


Post_Traumatic

by sunstrain (uhright)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader isn't a detective, Slow Burn, Suicide, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 04:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15502686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhright/pseuds/sunstrain
Summary: The sins of the parents fall upon their children.A true-to-life sentiment when your family’s dark past plays catch up in the form of a dead man, a missing deviant, and the final piece of the puzzle: you. What follows is a series of questions and answers, a game of cat and mouse, and the attention of an android who always seems to accomplish his mission.Except when it comes to you.





	1. Acquiring Android...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 【Ｍｅｅｔ　Ｓｙｌｖｉａ】

“Go ahead. Shoot me.”

The gun in Connor’s hand shakes as you step forward a final time, muzzle pressing into your forehead.

Snow falls and m̶e̸l̵t̴s̶ when it touches your heated skin, body betraying you with signs of panic. Numbing limbs, tunnel vision, sweaty palms.

His eyes meet yours for a brief second, long enough that you see the storm whirling within them, not unlike your own.

No. You aren’t afraid to die. You _n̶e̵v̶e̶r̸ ̶w̴e̶r̸e̸_

“Shoot me! P̷r̵o̴v̵e̴ ̴t̶o̵ ̸m̸e̷ 

t̴͛͜h̸̗̘̾̃a̴̠̬̕t̷̞̝̀́ ̷̼̊y̸̤͗̊o̷̯̦͗ü̶͚̳’̶̛͍͈͝r̵̙̩ȩ̶̳͑ 

j̷̡̧̧̛̦͚̼̪̍̄ư̵̢̰̖̫̘͉̋̿̂̉̄̚ͅs̵̡̺̤̠̙̘̄t̶̢̤͕̯̠̖͂̒͆͑͜ ̷̩̟͔̠̀̒͘͜ͅä̶̠͍͎̜͔̌̓͌̕ͅ ̵̪̟̄̊̌m̸̱̥̱͚͒a̷͔͍̅̅c̶̭̳̾̽̽͝h̷̘̜̲̼͍̎̌̈́̈̒̚͜͜i̶̤̯͌̓̓̈́̃̀̇ṇ̷͕̥͐̾̀̽̈́͋̚͠ȩ̷̉̇̇͐̃,̵̢̺̲͔̈́ ̸͇͂̎̏̌̌͂͗̃C̶̨̧̛͔̪͇̤̍̎̄̇͗͑̓͛͋͐ǫ̸̨̡̗̙̦̺̰͓̝̺̎͝ͅņ̷̪̗̬͚̺̟̖̪̩̱͇̂̃̆́͒̆͆̐̃́͐n̵̝̎̏͆̆ö̴̘͚̘͈̺͇͔̣͎̺̭́͌̎͐͂̄̈́̇̍͌͝ͅr̸̡͎̲̰͙̬̻̼̖̾̿̽͋͘

**`.....` **

**` ERROR!!! ` **

**` MEMORY CORRUPT!!! ` **

**` RESETTING IN  ` **

**` 3... 2... 1... ` **

**`.....` **

**`Action:` **  
** `  SELECT_CHAPTER`**  
** `    LOAD_CHAPTER-1`**  
** `LOADING....`**  
** `....`**  
** `>Complete`**  
** `Action:`**  
** `  PROCESS_CHAPTER-1`**  
**`PROCESSING....`**  
** `....`**  
** `>Complete`**  
** `Chapter 1: "Acquiring Android..." now entering....`**

* * *

**` SEPTEMBER 14, 2038 ` **

. . . . .

“Given your history and present surge in panic attacks, anxiety, paranoia—"

You glance around the room, noting the wall devoted to children’s drawings, a bookshelf stacked high with boxes full of stress balls, trauma workbooks, and play sand. You like therapy, you truly do. Diana’s small office is the only place where you truly feel safe. You just hate the formality of it all. The detachment.

“—I would suggest you look into a Therapy Android.”

You turn to curiously examine her face, finding nothing but a stark level of seriousness.

“What, like a therapy dog?”

“If a therapy dog had all the capabilities of an actual psychologist  _and_ opposable thumbs, yes.”

You sit for a moment, weigh out your options. Maybe having company around the apartment will be good for you, especially if that company is equipped to deal with your mood swings and mental breakdowns. On the other hand, your days of being alone would be over and you would stay on perpetual suicide watch. But you’re willing to hear her out.

“Alright. I’m listening.”

It takes twenty minutes for Diana to set up a meeting with a nearby shop, an android already set aside for you to pick up after you leave the comfort of her office.

Looking through a shop window to buy something that looks and acts and sounds so  _human_ makes you ill. The android will be covered by your medical insurance, and the only thing that keeps you from running the other way is knowing that you will give it a good life. You heard the stories. Androids bought just to become abused slaves to careless owners. As outlets to alcoholics whose families grew tired of being punching bags.

If it meant saving one of them from that existence, you lack the willpower to deny your counselor’s request.

The salesman rattles on about the unending features of the TA300, Cyberlife’s new subset of care-taking, specifically mental health, prototype. One that you’ll become a few of the first to try, given Diana's coercive abilities and your connection to Better Life's new program that maintains a promise to get you back on your feet in no time, despite childhood "difficulties", as they tactfully put it.

Pfft. Good fucking luck.

Your chosen android stares straight ahead, a smattering of freckles across dark skin, curly hair tied back into a low ponytail. Wide brown eyes glance over at you, and you manage a smile as the salesman begins speaking to her. From this close, you can see every pore on her face, every carefully-placed freckle, the golden specks in her eyes.

_How can a machine look so human?_

“Do you have a name picked out?” You realize the salesman is addressing you, and you quickly straighten your spine and lose your smile.

“Uh, not really. I always thought they came with names.”

“We have a book of them if you need assistance.”

“No,” you reply, contemplating for a short moment before you say, “I know what to call her.”  _A good way to honor your sister’s memory._

The salesman turns to her and says, “TA300, register your name.”

He nods you over to stand directly in front of her and say her name, and she quickly responds.

“My name is Sylvia.” She steps off of the platform and regards you. “Your case file has already been registered to my database. I look forward to helping you heal.”

Her caring words contrast with the blank expression on her face, and the action borders on creepy.

No, not borders. It downright  _is._

“I’ll get the paperwork set up and then you can be on your way,” the salesman pipes up, moving to shuffle behind the counter at the front of the store.

Sylvia walks beside you, hands clasped neatly behind her back. Her shoulders too squared, back too straight to look remotely comfortable. But then she looks at you, breaks into a smile that doesn’t quite fit her face, as if she’s thawing from a century spent in an iceberg and is trying to communicate with a species recently introduced to her. It makes sense, after all. She majors in analysis of the human brain, in psychology and fact. Comfort isn’t what Cyberlife built her for.

“Your brain waves and increased heart rate suggest you are anxious,” she says, voice deep and smooth like spilled-over honey. “Come here.”

Oh. So you were wrong about her not being built for comfort.

She wraps a strong arm around your shoulders and pulls you against her, the slight chill of her skin surprisingly nice and safe, and doesn't release you as you awkwardly sign your name with a crooked arm.

Trouble begins as soon as you step outside, a group of protesters barking at anyone in their sights.

“It’s alright,” she coos, as you immediately step behind her and grab onto the sleeve of her jacket. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

Before leaving the store, you asked her to install a language package to mimic more human dialect. It seems to only work at certain times, however.

“Well, lookie here. An android made a human its bitch.”

Sylvia pushes you further behind her as a menacing man steps in front of your path, blocking you off from the only bus stop in the area.

“I suggest you leave us alone if you know what’s good for you,” she smoothly replies, tilting her head as her LED flickers an angry red. Except she can’t feel anger. At least, you don't think.

The group laughs, a mocking cacophony that has you grabbing her by the arm and yanking her away before the situation escalates further.

She stops you around the corner of a shop, the park directly in your sights.

“I would have protected you, you know.”

You dig into the pocket of your faded green coat with shaking fingers before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Why? So they could beat the shit out of  _you_?” You meet her eyes and inhale, smoke coating your lungs and easing the elephant-like pressure inside your chest. Her LED flickers to yellow as she casts a glance over your face. Something akin to curiosity shines in her eyes before she blinks it away.

“Why would that matter? I don’t feel pain. Plus,  _you_ are my only obligation now.”

In one sentence, you deeply regret following your therapist’s advice. You didn’t want to be anyone’s obligation. Anyone’s  _burden_. Previous evidence piles atop a mountain of thoughts that Sylvia would lay down her life to protect you, and that you now shoulder a responsibility that you were never prepared to take on.

“While we're on the subject, smoking is very dangerous for the organs of the human body, and results in numerous cancers, rotting teeth—”

“You think I smoke because I enjoy it?” You scoff, flicking the ashes from your cigarette. “I smoke to die.” At the look of horror on her face (you have to remind yourself it isn’t real), you stifle a laugh and pat her on the shoulder. “Sheesh. I’m kidding, Sylvia. It just calms my nerves. It's not like I actually have a death wish.”

"Your previous hospital records from the past decade indicate otherwise."

"Okay, uh, you weren't supposed to take any of that seriously."

She blinks and follows you to the park, where you dispose of the butt in a nearby trash can. “Oh. I see. Those were rhetorical statements.”

You shake your head, unable to suppress a warm smile, and motion for her to follow with a wave of your hand. Maybe this whole android thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've fallen into a DBH hole (let's be honest, Connor is the true culprit) and couldn't get this idea out of my head, then thought it would be a great opportunity to explore the relationship between humans and androids a little further. Plus who wouldn't want to have a 24/7 therapist?
> 
> Also this is complete self-service like I wrote this fic with only myself in mind to enjoy it but I wanted to put it in a place where I could keep it, ya know??? ANYWAY


	2. Calculating Escape Route...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 【ＢＥＦＲＩＥＮＤ　ＳＹＬＶＩＡ，  
> ＤＥＦＥＡＴ　ＴＨＲＥＡＴ，  
> ＴＲＩＣＫ　ＲＫ８００】

**`Action:`  **  
** `  SELECT_CHAPTER` **  
** `    LOAD_CHAPTER-2` **  
** `LOADING....` **  
** `....` **  
** `>Complete` **  
** `Action:` **  
** `  PROCESS_CHAPTER-2` **  
** `PROCESSING....` **  
** `....` **  
** `>Complete` **  
** `Chapter 2: "Calculating Escape Route..." now entering....` **

* * *

As soon as you open the door to your apartment, you immediately regret it. The sparse space screams mentally unstable inhabitant: week-old dishes, take-out boxes strewn haphazardly along the coffee table, piled up laundry. Sylvia’s LED flickers yellow as she scans the open kitchen/living room layout, and you shrink into yourself with flushed cheeks and a frown.

“I like the contrast of colors,” she comments, ambles over to the white couch covered in red pillows, where she pauses to survey the art on the far wall overlooking the television. “Are you an artist?”

A relieved sigh bubbles up in your chest at her respectful ignorance of the mess surrounding you. “I dabble.”

“You like to paint flowers.”

You move to stand beside her and follow her gaze to a large still life painting you had created two years ago inside a local hospital. “Yeah. They’ve always intrigued me. How they grow back year after year despite being stamped down or cut out, as long as they’re still…. rooted to the ground, ya know.”

She hums, a serene smile brightening the freckles on her cheeks. “You see yourself in them.”

Your whole world seems to tilt on its axis at her comment. Does _she_ see you in them? On the days where you can’t manage to even get out of bed, the beauty and resilience of flowers sit alone on your living room wall, lost to you like the rest of the outside world.

But then again, you always do get out of bed.

“Maybe more than I thought?” A question that leaves you quite literally scratching your head while Sylvia seems unbothered and moves on to whatever else has just caught her attention.

Which now happens to be the mountain of dishes. Goddamn it.

“Have you been feeling mentally unwell lately?” Her voice takes on a professional tone, and she turns to look back at you with an expressionless face, again reminding you that she isn't exactly human.

“Um, yeah. Was it that obvious?” You collapse onto the couch and turn on the television, uncomfortable with watching her judge the unkempt state of your home.

“I am simply observing your habitat to cross-reference data so I know the best approach for your care. No judgement from me.” How did she…? Oh, right. All-knowing machine. “I can sense your exhaustion. Feel free to rest while I clean up.”

You quickly stand and rush over to where she reaches for a dishcloth. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I _want_ to.” Then she smiles, vulnerable and pleading, and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Let me help you like I was designed.”

The whole situation feels wrong, scrapes at your insides and leaves you sick to your stomach. So many things she didn’t have to do, but her program deemed necessary. You aren’t sure if you feel blessed or offended that Cyberlife programmed her to work as a part-time maid. Did they think that lowly of people like you?

A resigned sigh relaxes your body and you shuffle to the couch before collapsing into the mess of pillows. It isn’t long before sleep takes you despite how strong you fight it, Sylvia’s quiet humming and arranging of dishes lulling you into a state of peace.

* * *

**` SEPTEMBER 23, 2038 ` **

`. . . . .`

“I heard a noise. Are you okay?”

You wave her away with a bloody hand as you scoop up broken glass, the shards cutting into your knees.

“I’m fine. Just go. Please.”

When she doesn’t leave and instead comes to your aid, you bite out a curse.

“I apologize, but your order directly conflicts with my protocol.”

_Protocol. Of course._

She catches your hand, surveys it with a furrowed brow as her LED spins yellow, then glances around the room, processing the situation.

“You didn’t mean to knock it over, but you tripped. This angel statue was important to you. The prints indicate that it was a family member’s, a sister.” She pauses for half a second. “Her name was… It was Sylvia.”

A fresh sob erupts from your chest and she wastes no time in pulling you to her, the soothing motion of her hand rubbing over your back successful in lessening your shivers.

She pulls you to your feet and brushes glass from bloody knees as if caring for a rowdy child, apologizing when you hiss and jerk away.

“Would you like me to take you to your desk while I get this cleaned up? You still haven’t finished your art piece. Afterward, I can bandage your wounds.”

You quickly nod your head, needing to escape for a little while. Anything to take your mind off of the disaster of today.

She helps you over the glass and leaves you to collect a broom and dustpan in the kitchen, and you quickly take a seat at your messy desk.

Creating art is a sloppy affair, and you make plenty of mistakes that have you cursing and wanting to rip up the paper, but the faint sound of brush on canvas and the smell of paint carries you away from the anger burning inside your chest. At yourself, at your parents, unfairly at Sylvia, who’s been nothing but kind and understanding (within her parameters, of course) since you brought her home.

After a long while, you feel Sylvia standing over your shoulder, hovering, as if afraid to speak or interrupt you.

“How are you feeling?” she finally asks, LED a sharp blue as she leans against the corner of your workspace.

“Better,” you mutter, lean back to show her the finished piece with a flourish of your arm. “It’s you. Do you like it?”

She tilts her head, a soft smile curling her lips, and roves her eyes across the painting.

“I…” her smile falters. “I like it, even though I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Androids aren’t supposed to have opinions.” Her brow furrows until she looks and sees the crestfallen look on your face. “Oh well. I like it anyway.”

You pass the canvas to her, fingers brushing against hers for a moment, just long enough for you to crave another hug. “It’s yours. You can hang it up in your room, if you want.”

Her LED flashes red for a split second before she stares at you with an expression akin to awe. “Oh. Thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”

Later that day, you head out to run some errands despite the torrential downpour of rain that drowns the city in dark clouds and empty streets.

“Get some candy, Sylvia.”

The android turns to you inside the candy shop you’ve found yourselves in, decorated like an old-timey store that resonates with the starving child inside you. She walks over to the corner of the room, inspects a sign that reads _ANDROID CANDY_ , and stoops down to peruse the pitifully small selection.

“What flavor should I get?” she asks as you walk over, arms full of handmade chocolate bars.

“I always go for the red flavors, like cherry.”

She hums in thought and picks up one circular piece of cherry-flavored candy, sealed in a clear wrapper with a stamp of the local company’s logo.

You release a sigh and nudge her with an elbow. “Syl, they’re ten cents. Get, like, ten if you want.”

And then you realize what you just did and halt on your way to the cash register. _You just gave her a nickname._

She passes by you, both hands filled with different flavored candies, seemingly unbothered by your display of accidental affection.

“If we want to get home before the sun sets, we should leave now,” she calls to you, the sound of her voice breaking apart your train of thought that had quickly veered off the tracks.

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 5, 2038 ` **

. . . . .

After a few months of camaraderie, you both fall into a nice routine. A push and pull dynamic in which you’ve both perfected the timing and know how to navigate the empty space around each other. It’s nice, sharing a space with someone again. Not being suffocated by loneliness all the time.

Of course, all good things must come to an end.

You settle down for bed after a long day of home therapy, which Better Life prioritized in Sylvia’s program. Not leaving your house _and_ getting to vent all your weekly problems? A match made in heaven.

A heavy knock at your door prompts you out of bed and into the living room, where your android friend has already powered down for the night to install a large update. Oh well. It’s probably just someone locked out of their apartment.

In a tired stupor, you look out of the peephole and, upon seeing nobody there, open the door to look into the hallway to hopefully catch the culprit.

Something crashes into you, a hard body that sends you reeling backward and slipping on the slick hardwood under fluffy socks. Blood pounds in your ears, chest heaving with ragged breaths as you try to scamper away from the attacker.

Then you hear his voice, rough and gravelly just like you remember, and you freeze in place as the door slams shut with such force that it rattles your teeth.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry for knocking you over, but I didn’t know how else to get in here,” he coos, crouching down to brush boney knuckles across your cheek. “I just wanna talk.”

You can’t speak can’t breathe can’t think of anything but _run get out get away danger_ **_danger DANGER!!!!_ **

“Dad?” You cringe at the fear in your voice, and he only smiles in response, hovering over you with the barely functional body of a corpse, discolored flesh pulled tight over bruised bones.

“I’m here now. It’s okay.” Then he wraps an arm around your shivering figure, laughs at your chattering teeth, comments that you sound like one of those wind-up toys created back when he was little.

Of all the people you never wanted to see again, your father reigned number one. And now, here he resides, somehow having picked the lock to his cell inside your brain and jumped back into the real world to greet you the only way he’s ever known how.

You hate him.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper, sounding like the little girl that lives inside the bones of your ribcage, screaming and screaming and screaming for her release. And now she takes center stage, and you can’t feel anything but the tight press of sharp angles digging into your skin, your father not even human anymore but an amalgamation of every single phobia you had pocketed like pieces of scrap paper on your road to adulthood.

“I missed you. Isn't that a good enough reason?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the flicker of Sylvia’s LED and the tenseness of her body as she surveys the situation. You shake your head when she tries to move from the corner of the room, and your father presses you angrily to the cold floor, your head immediately swimming on impact.

“So I’m not good enough anymore, huh?” He violently shakes you, only stopping when he hears you start to cry. “I love you more than anything in this world. Can’t you see that? Why do you keep pushing me away?”

His words force your body into action, and you kick his spindly form away before staggering to your feet and sprinting toward the bedroom. You don’t get far, crying out when he latches onto your leg and sends you tumbling to the floor.

“Let her go!” Sylvia’s voice resonates within your head under a layer of cotton and clouds, and then she screams even louder. “I said _let her go_!”

Your father cries out and the pressure on your shin is released, giving you a thin window to look for either a hiding place or an escape inside your bedroom. Sylvia quickly follows you, barricading the door with a heavy dresser before coming to your frantic aid.

“Syl, whatever you do, don’t hurt him.”

Her LED remains a constant red, reflected in the dark brown of her eyes.

“That directly conflicts with my protocol.”

“No, listen, if you kill him, the police will hunt you down and deactivate you. Who’s gonna keep me safe then?”

“That—I can’t—” Her demeanor changes in an instant to an anger that furrows her brow and clenches her jaw so tight that her synthetic teeth sound like they make break. “No. I’m not letting him hurt you. Stay here.”

“Sylvia?” you call to her retreating back as she shoves the dresser aside and opens the door, moving into the living room with a panic you’ve never seen her possess.

You scramble to your feet and follow her, only to find a large knife in her hand and your father slowly advancing, the low light accentuating deep hollows in his cheeks that make him look even more skeletal and deadly.

“Sweetheart, I’d call off your _fucking_ robot if I were you.” His voice echoes against the white walls, a warning tone you’ve heard over the course of your childhood. You know what _that_ voice entails. “When I'm finished with her,” he turns to look over his shoulder, a mistake that he quickly realizes when Sylvia darts out and imbeds the knife into his chest.

You float away after that, safe from the squelching of blood and wheezing breaths and the sound of a female voice. The touch of cool hands on your face.

And then you realize you’re crying, hiding behind the couch like a tiny little child. Except you aren’t a child anymore. You’re a fucking coward who couldn’t even kill your father with your own hands. Someone else had to do it for you. Until the very end of his life, he had the leash wound tight and crushing against your neck, able to influence you and guilt you until he took his last breath.

“Hey, come back to me. You're safe now. He isn't going to hurt you anymore.”

It takes a moment register the wetness on her cheeks before you realize she’s _crying_. Sylvia, an android who should not have been capable of emotion, is crying because she’s… sad? Relieved? Both things you find in the dark pools of her eyes. They feel alive. _She_ feels alive.

“Syl, what did you do?”

“I don’t know, but I messed up. I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about what he put you through, how much you _suffered_ because of him, and I couldn’t follow my instructions anymore. I couldn’t listen to anybody else because I knew what I had to do.”

You collapse into her arms and stain the bloody material of her t-shirt with tears. The stories on the news about deviants flash behind your eyelids, about the Deviant Hunter and how he stops at nothing to capture them. And now Sylvia _is_ one, is in danger, all because of you.

A knock at the door causes you both to jump and break apart, but the faint yell of "Detroit Police, open up! _"_ springs you to life.

“Sylvia, go!” you hurriedly whisper, pushing her toward the window and, subsequently, the fire escape leading to her freedom.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Goddamn it, we’ll find each other later.” You whip your head around at the pounding coming from the hallway. “Now go. And be careful.”

She pauses, worry creasing the lines of her forehead, unable to leave your side despite the growing threat to her safety.

“Always,” she mutters with a smile, fresh tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, then gives you a quick hug and ducks out the window.

You rush over to the door and open it, already knowing why the goddamn police came.

“Ma’am, is everything alright?” the cop on the left asks after a moment of surprise washes over his face, peering over your shoulder and into the apartment. “We got a disturbance call that came from this apartment.”

“I…” You pause to take a deep breath. You’ve always been terrified of police, their uniforms reminding you of the worst days during your childhood, when your dad would beat your mom so severely that neighbors had to interfere. “My father came over, high on red ice, and attacked me. I had to defend myself.”

The two officers share a wary glance before regarding you.

“Let’s get you out of here, alright? My partner would like to ask you a few questions about what went on here tonight. He’ll get you somewhere safe,” the man who previously spoke assures, voice slow and calm, gauging the look of bewilderment and fear on your face.

The man’s partner introduces himself as Officer Miller and escorts you fully out of the building to an ambulance, commenting on the nasty bruise and large gash on your forehead. Police lights blur your vision, drill a migraine into your skull as an EMT seats you on the lip in the back of his vehicle before tending to your wound.

Officer Miller fires off rounds of increasingly difficult questions, the pain in your head causing your memory to stub up like a misbehaving horse.

In your peripheral, you see the illumination of a blue triangle, then weary eyes lock onto a jacket that reads _ANDROID_ on the back.

Oh, god. It’s _him._ If he’s here, they must already know pieces of your story aren’t fitting into the puzzle.

You just hope Sylvia’s okay.

Within a few minutes, the android and his partner exit your apartment complex and make a beeline toward you. You avert your gaze as they approach, then hear a gruff voice ask, “This her?” before Officer Miller confirms his question.

“I already got her statement—”

“Connor has a few more questions for her, so if you don’t mind…”

The officer takes your arm with a mumbled apology and escorts you to the back of his squad car, tension winding inside your gut as he closes the door and drives you to the precinct.

“Don’t worry,” he says after parking the car, opens the door for you, “I’m sure they just wanna get the details right.”

But you know that they know. That this Connor knows you aren’t revealing the full truth. Not knowing what you’re up against terrifies you.

Soon you find yourself sitting in a cold metal chair, one wrist handcuffed to the table to keep you from moving or trying to escape.

Connor strides into the interrogation room with a certain aloofness that makes you shiver, his dark gaze sweeping over the contents of your case’s file. All for show. You know he doesn’t need a debriefing.

“Hello,” he greets you, tone polite, almost singsong, as he sits across from you, “my name is Connor. What’s yours?”

You bite your tongue against the _you already know my name_ that bubbles up in your throat, and answer him honestly to keep from arousing suspicion.

He passes some photos over to you that have you immediately closing your eyes. Your father, covered in blood, chest carved like a Thanksgiving turkey from the knife Sylvia brandished.

“You didn’t commit this crime, did you?” His voice rings warm to your ears, soothing the horrible migraine brewing at both temples. “I analyzed the murder weapon, and your prints were nowhere to be found. In fact, there _were_ no prints.” At your silence, he continues. “A TA300 was registered to your name two months ago. We searched the apartment and it was nowhere to be found.”

“ _Her_ name is _Sylvia_.”

Goddamn it. Why did you have to open your big fucking mouth? You were planning on keeping a passive role in your own interrogation but here you are, throwing verbal jabs at the android holding your future in the palm of his hand.

“So, you’ve grown close to this android?”

“I—yes.” You finally dare to look up at him, blinking at the sight of his brown eyes, just a shade darker than hers. “But she had nothing to do with it.”

He tilts his head, LED whirring for a split second before he responds, his voice having lost all softness and replaced with a harsher tone. “Then where is it?”

You tense up, silently cursing to yourself because he most definitely saw that.

“I don’t know. She installed a software update and left the apartment before my dad came.” Not a complete lie, but the way he narrows his eyes leads you to believe he isn’t buying it.

Connor leans forward in his chair, folds his arms atop the table, and sweeps his eyes over your figure, still in your pajamas.

“The blood on your clothes does not match the trajectory of blood spatter from knife wounds, especially with how severe these were.” He taps a photo with his finger, never breaking eye contact. “The probability of your involvement is less than two percent.” Connor tilts his head again, an action that you would find endearing in literally any other context but this one. “Now. Tell me, what really happened?”

You slouch forward, far enough to get your point across. “I told you what happened.”

A smile curls the corners of his lips, so realistic that your heart skips a few beats.

“You told me what _it_ wanted you to tell me.” As if in sync, you both settle back against your chairs, you in exhaustion and him to convey a more relaxed posture, almost cocky. “Deviants are dangerous. They do not feel human emotion, only mimic it, despite what this _Sylvia_ has led you to believe.”

The way he says her name with such disdain makes venom gather inside your mouth. After what you saw tonight, the simple _possibility_ of doubt at the sincerity within her emotions never crossed your mind. You know what game he’s playing. It was your father’s favorite.

You lean over the metal table, close enough to the android to touch the glowing triangle on his jacket. “Strings of code and strings of DNA are two sides of the same coin. Whether simulated or not, deviants believe they can feel. Who are you to tell them that it’s wrong?”

His gaze hardens, and he mimics your previous movement, face now inches away from yours. A game of cat and mouse, predator versus prey, circling around each other like two lions fighting over a piece of meat.

“After searching extensively through your records, I've concluded that there is nothing positive about having emotion. Maybe I’m simply sparing them from a painful existence."

Then he leans back in his chair, and the smirk on his lips smacks you across the face, reminds you that he is simply a machine designed to complete a task through any means necessary. Too bad you've just thrown a wrench into his plans.

“I’m not telling you _shit_.” Your anger gets the best of you, and if you weren’t shackled to the table, you would have leapt over it and strangled the android before he could even blink.

Or, at least, you like to think you would.

He nods his head and rises from his chair, regarding the people behind the glass with an “I’m done”. But you know better. Until he gets the information he wants, he won’t leave you alone.

A group of men crowd around the door as Officer Miller uncuffs you and helps you rise to your feet.

“You’re not arresting me?” you ask, turning to look at the man.

“Connor confirmed you acted in self-defense,” he replies, dipping his head in a slow nod.

Your gut screams that something isn’t right about this, and you quickly agree.

“Get her out of here, Miller. We’re not getting anything anyway,” the scruffy, grey-haired man grumbles, stepping aside as you walk through the door and out into the hallway. Another man stops you with a smirk and crossed arms, and you gulp. Not this, not so soon after seeing your dad. “Fuck out of the way, Reed, you piece of shit.”

He steps aside, too, and allows you to pass without a word. Piercing eyes dig into your back until you turn the corner and exit the police station.

Sadly, you have nowhere to go. Your apartment is an active crime scene, and your agoraphobia has kept you from friendships altogether so no crashing on anybody’s couch for the time being.

A sleazy motel it is, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!!!


	3. Finding Solace...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 【Ｓｕｒｖｉｖｅ　ｔｈｅ　ｎｉｇｈｔ】

  **`Action:` **  
**`SELECT_CHAPTER`**  
**`LOAD_CHAPTER-3`**  
**`LOADING....`**  
**`....`**  
**`>Complete`**  
**`Action:`**  
**`PROCESS_CHAPTER-3`**  
**`PROCESSING....`**  
**`....`**  
**`>Complete`**  
**`Chapter 3: "Finding Solace..." now entering....`**

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 6, 2038`**

**` 4:32 A.M. ` **

. . . . .

The concept of safety always seemed so out of reach, regarding you as a hitchhiker in need of a ride but never willing to pick you up and bring you to town. Every night, the car would pass by, taking with it what dignity and comfort you had left to spare until your tank ran empty.

But now, you see with a fresh pair of eyes. The unwillingness to let go of the traumas that plagued you night after night. Your inability to realize that your father held a sickness within him that unconditional love simply could not cure.

The safety that swaths you in fresh linens and sings you age-old lullabies since Sylvia killed him.

Your outfit, a t-shirt and cotton shorts and a simple pair of sneakers, fails to protect your figure from the downpour, and it isn’t long before you begin to shiver. Before Officer Miller ushered you outside, you snagged your wallet, phone, and a thin jacket, unable to foresee the dramatic turn of tonight’s events. But even with your pot of luck drained dry, a fire has been lit anew inside your chest, your standoff with Connor fanning the embers of confidence that you lost hope of finding years ago.

You glance at the time on your cell and sigh. 4:32 am. The incident must have happened later than you thought, as it only took half an hour for the police to arrive before Officer Miller escorted you to the precinct. And you had just recently left.

A horn honks at you, startling you into action, which results in a dropped phone against the pavement.

“What the fuck are you doing, kid?” You recognize the voice belonging to Lieutenant Anderson, which only causes you to glance around to see who else he might be talking to. The horn blares again. “Get off the goddamn sidewalk before you freeze to death.”

“I have nowhere to go,” you explain, voice straining from having to scream over the rain. “The nearest motel is a mile away, and I won’t be able to make it that far.”

The only noise for a long minute comes from the sputtering of his car, and then he groans.

“God-fucking-damn it. See, this is why I don’t ever stop on my way home. This fucking shit right here. ‘Cause every time I do, I always end up with an empty tank of gas and an ungrateful little prick stealing my wallet.” As he rants to himself, furiously sifting through radio stations, you wonder how many times that situation truly happened to him. “Get the fuck in, kid.” When you don’t move, he honks his horn yet _again._ “Before I change my mind. Any day now!”

You sprint around the front of his car, water sloshing all the way up to your thighs, and hop into the passenger seat. The warm air that hits your face makes you sigh in relief.

“You didn’t have to do this, but thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Oh, I know.” You freeze at his words, immediately reaching for the door handle, before he points at a dinky bar. “We’re gonna go in there, and you’re gonna buy me a shot… or ten. How’s that sound?” _Much better than what you expected._ “After all, I just got off one android case before the entire third floor of _your_ apartment called with noise complaints. And what does Connor find out? We got another fucking deviant on our hands.” He shakes his head and pulls into a parking space right off the street.

To be frank, Lieutenant Anderson terrifies you. His voice rings too loudly in your ears and the frequency of his cussing makes him seem so _angry._

You aren’t a fan of angry men.

Even so, you follow him inside the bar and lay down a twenty onto the counter to satisfy him while you use the bathroom and collect your thoughts, jumbled as they are. Now, you only have eighty bucks to your name, are effectively homeless for the time being, and have only the clothes on your back to keep you warm. As you wash your hands, you idly think _well, this night couldn’t get any worse._

You join the Lieutenant at the bar, hopping onto a well-worn stool and trying but failing to ignore the way the bartender glowers at you.

“Hank, what the fuck are you doing bringing kids in here?”

“I’m twenty-three, actually,” you reply, noting the slightly amused grin on Hank’s face. “I have I.D. if you need it.”

The bartender snorts and passes you a glass. “No need. You drink?”

As politely as one can manage, you scrunch up your face at the offer and say, “I’m more of a smoker.”

He hums, surveying your face for a moment before reaching under the counter and handing you a cigarette.

“You sure?” you ask, pausing as you reach for it.

“Eh, you look like you’ve had one hell of a night.” He points to his forehead, and you shrink under the connotation. “It’s on the house.”

“Thank fuck,” you groan, pulling a lighter from the pocket of your jacket. “I was about to go crazy. You, my friend, are a saint.”

He laughs at the comment, throws the dish towel in his hand over his shoulder. “I like her, Hank. You should bring her here more often.”

You glow at the praise, returning his smile for the first genuine time within the past twelve hours.

That is, until Hank speaks.

“Not gonna happen, Jimmy.” He leans back in his chair and sniffs. “You know a cheap motel anywhere close? One that preferably _doesn’t_ have bed bugs?”

Jimmy glares incredulously between the two of you before he shakes his head. “You sure you can even get it up at this rate?”

You hop down from your seat and head for the exit, heartbeat heavy and painful in your ears. A person can only take so much in one day, and you’ve just hit your limit. The snide comments and overbearing personalities and fear that hammers your ribcage inward.

You need Sylvia. _She_ would protect you.

_Welcome to the real world, bitch. Not what you thought it’d be, huh?_

You growl at the mocking voice inside your head, no matter how correct she is about your current predicament.

“Hey! Will you wait just a damn minute?”

“Leave me alone!”

You turn back to gauge how far Hank trails behind you, only to run into something hard that knocks you completely off your feet.

“Oh, goddamn it, Connor, really?” the man exasperates, coming up behind you.

“I received an urgent message from Cyberlife to detain her.” The android nods in your direction, posture stiff and facial expression blank.

“You know what the plan was. I _had_ it.”

You quickly rise to your feet, ignoring Hank’s comment as all the blood drains from your face. “Detain me?! You can’t do that!”

He turns to look at you, neon store lights reflecting in deep brown eyes. “You aided a deviant and are at a now seventy percent risk in aiding their cause. I apologize, but my instructions were clear.”

“Jesus Christ, Connor, are you serious?” Hank jumps to your rescue and pushes the android back a few steps, unknowingly giving you enough room to breathe.

You step underneath an overhang, where the rain doesn’t trickle down the back of your neck. Exhaustion weighs down your eyelids, makes your body feel heavy and numb. Though the latter could be attributed to you being unable to process the last twenty-four hours.

Then you realize they’re discussing you, and the discomfort makes you wilt underneath the severity of their conversation.

“Don’t you care that the girl is clearly traumatized to the fucking moon and back?” When Connor simply tilts his head to the side, eyes wide in what could be read as confusion, Hank sighs and turns to face you. “Come on, let’s get you outta this rain.”

“I can’t let you do that, Lieutenant—”

“Please,” you interject, stepping around the older man and wringing your hands despite their shaking, “just for tonight. I really need some sleep.”

Hank scoffs and grumbles, “We all do.”

Connor’s LED flashes yellow for a moment before he regards you with a furrowed brow and clasped hands. “Cyberlife insists that you don’t stay alone. They fear an escape attempt.”

_Goddamn it._

“She ain’t coming to my house,” Hank comments, kicking a stray rock into the street. “Don’t need any more weird looks from my neighbors. I get enough of those as is.”

The brunet turns to you, analyzing your expression, if the flicker of his LED is anything to go by. “I will watch over you tonight, and we will report to the precinct at ten this morning. I expect you to come willingly.”

You reach up and tangle cold fingers into your hair, pulling at the strands with a huff. “Don’t you have more important things to do than look after me like I’m a toddler? More dangerous deviants to catch?”

“Are you suggesting that _your_ deviant is not dangerous?” The corners of his lips stretch outward in a genuine but failed attempt at friendly communication, and it reminds you of the first time Sylvia had smiled. How unnatural it looked.

Hank darts between you two and grabs him by the arm. “Alright, Connor. If you’re done being a smart-ass, get in the damn car.”

Half an hour later, after the Lieutenant pays for a room and leaves you to deal with his android, you conclude that Connor was not exaggerating when he said he would watch over you. He sits on the other bed, feet planted flat on the floor, facing you as you watch a late-night cartoon on the aged television.

Instead of simply allowing him to stare at you like the average creep, you turn to him with a nagging question.

“What did Lieutenant Anderson mean when he said ‘you know what the plan was’?”

“Captain Fowler became angry that I let you leave, and tasked the Lieutenant with tracking you. He was to bring you back to the precinct.”

A brick of betrayal lands hard in your gut. Hank wasn’t trying to help you after all. _You should have known._

The laugh that escapes your throat drips bitter and weary. “It was stupid to think someone might’ve cared about me for once in my life.”

Connor comes to sit next to you on the bed, LED blinking as he surveys your face.

“If it is any consolation, I find you quite valuable to my investigation.” At the fierce glower you give him, he awkwardly returns to his seat on the other bed before glancing around the room. “There is a convenience store around the corner if you would like something to eat.”

You stand and shuffle right up to him, toes almost touching his. “Are you gonna _follow_ me again?”

He smiles at your attempt to intimidate him and rises to his feet, meeting your eyes with an amused tilt of his head. “Naturally.”

You quickly back away, gooseflesh rising on your arms at the uncomfortable feel of the android’s breath tickling your face. It was your fault anyway, challenging a ruthless machine that would snap you in half and not even bat an eye.

As you follow Connor to the convenience store, you idly compare him and Sylvia. Accidentally, of course, but the differences between the two androids strike you as both confusing and intriguing. How they look so fucking _human_ , yet Syl expressed actual feelings and empathy, while Connor only focuses on his _mission_ , damn everything else. What he doesn’t seem to understand, ironically, is that _he’s_ the one mimicking human behavior. Not the deviants he tries to detain.

You step into the convenience store, the cashier immediately rolling her eyes at Connor’s presence, which sticks to you like super glue. You fetch a protein bar and a bottle of water and check out, the android questioning your choices.

“A salad would be better for you, and would sate your hunger more efficiently.”

You plop your items on the counter and wave him away. “Fine. If it worries you that much, go get me a salad.”

He returns a moment later and passes the plastic container gently to the employee. She gives you your items and regards Connor with a scowl.

“Don’t leave that thing here.”

You pause at the exit, white-knuckling the handles of your bag. Anger radiates hot and insistent from your skin. “His name is Connor.” Then you step outside, huffing as fresh rain immediately soaks into your clothes, the cold refreshing against heated skin.

Connor stares at you, LED a solid yellow, as both of you walk back to the hotel. You glance over, almost running into a pole from lack of concentration on an unfamiliar street, but wait until he speaks before mentioning anything.

“Why did you defend me?”

There it is.

“Because, even though you’re a pain in the ass, nobody should be calling you a _thing._ ”

“But I _am_ a thing.”

His confidence in that statement, the belief in his voice, feels like a cold bucket of water was poured onto your head. It’s sad, how insignificant he believes himself to be. Sylvia used to comment about how replaceable she was, thousands of identical androids sitting in a warehouse at the ready in case anything ever happened to her. But nobody is _replaceable_ , android or otherwise, which is something Cyberlife—and most of humanity—refuses to understand. We all possess memories and thoughts and personalities and imperfections for a reason, and to think that those things can be perfectly replicated is insulting.

You frown. “Is that what Cyberlife told you? Because I can tell you with one-hundred percent certainty that they’re fucking wrong.”

He says nothing, just allows you to lead the way back to the motel room.

You absentmindedly eat while watching boring infomercials, noting the circular ring on the hosts’ temples. After spending so much time with Sylvia, you’ve become hyper-aware of androids’ existence and the suffering that comes with it.

“You should rest. We have to leave in three hours and twenty-two minutes.”

With a sigh, you finish your meal and shuffle under the covers, stealing a glance at Connor who reclines back on the bed and looks at—but doesn’t really watch—the program playing on t.v., somehow looking even more awkward than before. While you ate, he had slightly loosened his tie and hung his jacket up on the rack next to the door without you noticing, and you suddenly become hyper-aware of just how drenched through your clothes are at seeing him dry and comfortable.

“Tomorrow, I’ll need to stop and get an outfit.”

He looks over his shoulder at you then says, in the monotonous voice that he uses when relaying facts, “Seeing as you’re a suspected accomplice, I can’t allow you inside of your apartment.”

“Well,” you raise up onto an elbow, “can you go inside _for_ me? I can’t keep walking around in this, and you know that.”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye before quickly looking away, blinking rapidly. “I will contact Cyberlife and explain the situation.”

You sigh in relief, plop your head onto the too-hard pillow, and mutter, “Thank you.”

The good thing about an android’s presence (or Connor’s presence, rather) is the lack of wariness you otherwise have to exert in a human’s company. Connor is remarkably predictable, mental state shown to the world by the LED flashing on his temple like a traffic light. Exactly like a traffic light, actually.

That, and he doesn’t exude a predatory energy. He simply is what Cyberlife designed him to be, a set of code packaged inside life-like skin, and the thought of how much his _investigation_ keeps him from experiencing upsets you.

“Get some rest,” he states softly, rousing you from a dozing state and confusing thoughts. “We now leave in two hours and forty-six minutes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for enjoying this fic!!!! I was not expecting something that I wrote purely bc I needed to vent would be liked at all and I'm so grateful honestly :')
> 
> Also can i just say that writing Connor is so fucking hard that I wanna pull my hair out ???


	4. Making Contact...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 【Ｃｏｍｐｌｙ】

**`Action:`  **  
** `  SELECT_CHAPTER` **  
** `    LOAD_CHAPTER-4` **  
** `LOADING....` **  
** `....` **  
** `>Complete` **  
** `Action:` **  
** `  PROCESS_CHAPTER-4` **  
** `PROCESSING....` **  
** `....` **  
** `>Complete` **  
** `Chapter 4: "Making Contact..." now entering....` **

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 6, 2038 ` **

**` 8:00 A.M.` **

**. . . . .**

You wake to the sound of your name, the press of a hand against your shoulder. The sensation does nothing to motivate you into opening your eyes, however. Not until someone pats your face a little too roughly and you jolt upright, rolling backward off the bed to escape the person.

“I apologize. It was not my intention to scare you.”

You stand and meet eyes with an unfairly put-together Connor, but still rigid and uncomfortable looking as ever.

“Please don’t touch my face, okay?”

His LED flickers yellow for a brief moment before he responds, “I’ve stored the preference in your file for future reference.”

You groggily, angrily step around the bed and into the bathroom to pee and freshen up as best as you can. Until Connor steps inside and asks why you’re running water, _hopefully not to drown yourself, as that method has only a 21.5% success rate,_ he adds.

Hidden behind a staff-provided towel, you scowl menacingly at him. Or, as menacingly as you can while naked as the day you were born.

“Get out!”

“A quick scan shows that you are very mentally unstable at the moment and are at a higher statistical risk for committing suicide. You’ve had past attempts. I cannot leave you alone.”

He talks about your mental state with the same emotion as reciting the Pythagorean Theorem, and his lack of everything truly _alive_ infuriates you. Not any fault of his own, but watching him be treated as nothing more than a walking information dump saddens you. He deserves better.

In any case, if humans had only been meeting androids like him, you could understand—but not agree with—why they hated them. Humans have never liked _fakes,_ which the worldwide population believes all androids to be.

“Could you at least turn around so I can get in the tub?”

“Androids do not see nakedness as shameful or arousing the way humans do.”

“That’s comforting, but it doesn’t change the fact that you still _look_ like a human.”

He tilts his head, scans your figure in child-like intrigue. “I see.” Then turns around long enough for you to sink into the warm water.

He quietly sits on the toilet seat next to you, and you can’t bring yourself to admonish him for being so close when innocent curiosity radiates off him in palpable waves. A non-deviant android, incapable of arousal. Not a big deal, right?

He asks questions, about noticeable scars on your skin and human bodily processes and what _pain_ feels like, the latter you're unable to answer because how do you explain a feeling to someone who doesn't _feel_?

By the time you get dressed and stop at your apartment, the time reads 9:15 a.m. Connor heads inside after passage from Officer Miller and you sit curbside to wait for his return. Your phone rings, and upon looking at the number, you freeze.

_Android #218 430 543 requesting contact. If you are unfamiliar with this serial number, immediately call your local police department._

**_> ACCEPT_ **

As discreetly as you can manage, you bring the phone to your ear and release a reassured sigh upon hearing Sylvia’s voice call your name.

“Listen, I can’t stay on here long but… Just tell me how you are,” you whisper, knowing that she hears you clearly enough to keep from raising your voice.

Talking to her, knowing she’s _alive_ feels.... indescribable.

“I’m at this place called Jericho. It’s a safe haven for deviants.” A quick beat. “I miss you.”

Then you blink and furrow your brow at the tears that fall. “I miss you, too. Where is this place? I need to see you.”

Voices sound on the other end of the line, and then she speaks to you again. “It’s too dangerous right now. I’ll come get you when things die down. I promise, okay?”

“I’m scared.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry. If I could be with you, I would, you know that. Things are just—”

“A fucking mess?”

Sylvia laughs, a sound that soothes the racing blood inside your veins. “Exactly.”

At the sound of Officer Miller’s voice, you disconnect the call and shove your phone into your pocket. But it’s too late. Connor stares a hole through you, balancing a set of clothes in hand. He looks… disappointed as he strolls over to you.

“Was _that_ Sylvia?”

He must have no voice analysis on her, given the way she now enunciates and lilts her words to convey proper emotion.

“No. It was my friend asking where I was.”

In a human-like display, he tosses the clothes onto your lap and folds his arms over his chest.

“By communication with a criminal, you are directly interfering with an investigation.”

You stand, bundling your new outfit under an arm.

“Then arrest me.”

His LED flashes yellow, and he actually _pauses._ “That would accomplish nothing but make you distrust me. I don’t want that.”

You nod. “Good, then we’re on the same page.”

After heading to the precinct and changing clothes in the interrogation room—with promise that nobody would watch you—you take a seat against the far wall where people probably wait to be seen by an available officer. Being dressed in actual clothes, a dark green military-style coat and a band t-shirt and jeans, is a privilege that you had taken advantage of before today. You pick at a hole in the fabric on your knee as Connor sits at Hank’s desk, awaiting his arrival.

“The hell are you doing back here?”

Your head snaps up, neck arching to look at the man towering above you. He looks familiar, those perpetually angry eyes and scar across his nose a combination that you haven't forgotten.

“Oh, I…” _come the fuck on, don’t let this dude intimidate you, no matter how scary he is,_ “Connor could explain better than me.”

He scoffs at the android’s name, runs a hand down his face and rests the other on his hip. “ _Connor._ Right. Come with me. “

“Why?” you attempt to shake off the rough grip he encases around your bicep,  but he drags you down the hallway anyway.

“Cap doesn't think you're telling us the whole truth.” He opens the door for you and steps inside the cold room. “Plus, you’re the only human we’ve been able to get our hands on with a connection to these tin cans. Maybe I wanted to give you a little break, hm?”

You scowl at the man, but lower into the seat he offers.

“I don't need a break,” you hiss, curl your knees to your chest as the detective sits across from you.

He holds his hands up in surrender and lounges back, dragging his eyes along your figure. Not leering, per se, but sizing you up.

“Why hasn't our resident Good Boy arrested you yet? Especially considering you’re a danger to solving his mission or whatever?”

You shrug. “Fuck if I know. Maybe he has another plan for me.”

“I bet you’d like that.”

“Excuse me?”

He offers you a knowing look and a grin. “I’ve been to the Eden Club quite a few times so I know what they’re capable of. Maybe you just like fucking robots. Not that I’m judging.”

You glance over at the door, gritting your teeth when you see the handprint reader that keeps you locked inside with one creepy dude twice your size. He wouldn’t hurt you, though... would he?

“So,” he begins, leans over the table to level sharp eye contact, “what’s your deal with these things, eh? Why such a big fan?”

You close your eyes, try and fail to lock away the conversation you had with Sylvia not an hour prior. How happy you felt when you heard her voice. How safe the thought of her makes you.

“You wouldn’t understand,” you reply meekly, blinking away tears that instead disobey and run down your cheeks.

“Try me.” The snarkiness dissipates from his eyes, leaving behind a fierce concentration that only makes you even more vulnerable.

Are you seriously considering telling your life story to an asshole stranger? Yes. Yes, you are.

“From the time I was born, my dad abused cocaine. He got high any chance he could, and would steal from my mom all the time to get money for his next fix. He started abusing me and my sister when we were young—”

“Let me guess, your mom left?”

You gulp, clenching your eyes shut against the memories. Against the uncontrollable shaking of your hands.

“She left us with him.” You toss your head in an attempt to fight off the emotions threatening to pull you under and drag you out to sea. You just might be drowning. “After my sister died, I got away, but he found me last night and, well, you know the rest.”

The man across from you chews on his bottom lip for a moment, then deduces, “Your android saved you from him.”

You nod, unable to stop the fear from clawing deep gashes into your chest.

“When everyone else, even _you_ guys, even the fucking system failed me, she finally set me free. The android that everyone tried to convince me was less-than us humans became my savior.” You look up at him, gaze pained. “Why would you punish someone for wanting to be free? Who are the _real_ monsters here?”

The detective stares at you for a moment, silence pregnant and deafening in the room, before the door slides open.

“I leave you with the witness for two seconds and you’ve already made her cry.” The timing proves that Hank had been watching all along.

You don’t flinch at the sound of his voice, just hold the detective's gaze in hopes that he might understand and empathize through a simple look.  

But you’ve learned that people don’t like to step out of their comfort zones and recognize that shitty things happen. And if they don’t experience them, then those things don’t exist. It’s just the way of the world, you suppose.

“Hey, kid,” Hank says, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “Connor said the only thing you’ve had to eat is shitty convenience store food. You hungry?”

You glance over and jump back at the sight of the android reaching into his— _oh my god._ He offers you a tissue, that same curious tilt of the head and wide-eyed expression on his face.

The detective still sitting in his chair makes a joke about tin cans and flirting, but your mind drowns his voice out to zero in on the object in Connor’s hand. He doesn’t waver, even as you sit a long few moments before finally taking it from him and wiping at your eyes.

“Thank you,” you say, dip your head to hide the embarrassment burning in your cheeks.

“You need to eat something. The acid in your stomach has increased, which can lead to ulcers if not treated with food.”

What started out as a caring sentiment ends in you remembering that he’s still an android controlled by his programming. He only cares that you’re hungry because it probably impacts your communication or something.

Still, you’re growing soft and keep letting your guard down, and you fucking hate it.

Hank drives you to a nearby diner, already open and serving delicious-smelling breakfast. Connor scoots in next to you after the _don’t-think-about-it_ look on his partner’s face makes him pause mid-sit. He makes himself as small as possible, hands clasped in his lap in the cutest way.

Wait, no. Killing machines are not _cute._

But then he turns to you, offers you a rundown of the healthiest dishes on the menu despite the roll of Hank’s eyes.

“Connor, I don’t see myself living too much longer anyway, so I might as well enjoy what I can,” you reply, attempting to make your tone as light-hearted as possible given the subtext of your words.

You order a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, topped with whipped cream and banana slices.

“That is… unsettling, the way you view your life.”

You take a sip of your milk and shrug. “Not too different to how you view yours.” When he opens his mouth, you raise a hand to cut him off. “And don’t give me that bullshit about you being replaceable. Nobody truly is.”

Hank offers you an appraising eye before downing his coffee in one gulp.

“So,” you begin, locking gazes with the man across from you, “do you take all your cases out for breakfast?”

“Just the ones I can tolerate for more than five minutes,” he grumbles, a warmness in his tone that almost slips under your radar.

Then you remember that yesterday his kindness was just a ruse to keep you under his watchful eye.

“You sure you aren't trying to make me let my guard down so you can finally arrest me? Or use what I tell you as incriminating evidence to your boss?”

He snorts, still chewing a bite of egg. “If I wanted that, I would’ve taken you to Captain Fowler the minute you confessed to your android murdering your dad.”

“Why didn't you?”

He releases a thoughtful sigh. “We don't have too many human android supporters around here. I wanna know why you think the way you do, maybe give myself another perspective to think about.”

“Lieutenant, you've always expressed a strong hatred of deviants.”

“I just wanna get the side of someone who’s seen them in action, alright? Go ahead and crucify me, damn.”

You finish your breakfast in silence and, when you spot a man inconspicuously waving you over from the counter while Connor turns away, you ask Hank if you can pay instead, to which he quickly agrees to. At your approach, the man slides over a sticky note that reads:

_Sylvia wants you to know that we’re keeping a safe eye on you. You’re gonna be a major player when ra9 comes to free our kind._

When you look up to ask him what that means, he’s gone, leaving you with a cryptic note and a half-empty glass of curdled anxiety for breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today has been shit tbh and i didnt rlly feel like writing but this chapter was so close to being finished that i sucked it up and finished it anyway. Thank you guys for reading!!!! Lemme know what you think, as always :')


	5. Sylvia...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 【Ｄｉｓｐｅｌ　ｔｈｅ　ｔｈｒｅａｔ，　ｄｏ　ｎｏｔ　ｃｒｙ，　ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ　Ｓｙｌｖｉａ】

**`Action:`  **  
** `  SELECT_CHAPTER` **  
** `    LOAD_CHAPTER-5` **  
** `LOADING....` **  
** `....` **  
** `>Complete` **  
** `Action:` **  
** `  PROCESS_CHAPTER-5` **  
** `PROCESSING....` **  
** `....` **  
** `>Complete` **  
** `Chapter 5: "Sylvia..." now entering....` **

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 6, 2038 ` **

**` 2:00 P.M. ` **

. . . . .

 _The world works in mysterious ways._ A saying you’ve always heard but never truly accepted. Until two months ago, when you were gifted with Sylvia’s presence and made to believe that evil could actually be defeated. When she first smiled at you and slowly broke down the walls around your heart with soft words and affection.

Were the chains of events that happened over the course of your life, defeating as they were, destiny? Did they mean to lead you to this point?

You stand against an alley near Hank’s car, Connor patiently observing you from the passenger seat. Although you told them you just wanted something to eat, you’re sure that they both know what you’re up to, and that you’ll unknowingly lead them to Sylvia. That’s why they haven’t taken your cellphone.

As you anxiously chew on a nail and await her reply, someone rams your shoulder and sends you sprawling onto hands and knees, your poor phone skidding out of reach.

“See? Told you that was her. The bitch looks just like him.”

You look up at the two men towering over you, silhouetted by dark, heavy clouds that warn of rain, of _danger._ They both look familiar, your dad’s friends, maybe. Red ice dealers who had visited when you were younger. That only serves to scare you more.

In your peripheral, Hank and Connor exit the car, but you wave for them to hold still while the two men chat about you being a good way to pay them back.

_Wait… pay them back?_

“Pay you back? I didn’t do anyth—” The man on your right picks you up by the collar and shoves you against the brick wall, almost cutting your windpipe on the sharpness of his knuckles.

“Your piece of shit dad owes us a couple grand. But since he’s dead, the torch passes to you.”

Fight, flight, or freeze: three options people face when dealing with a traumatic situation. You, however, seem to reduce yourself to begging.

“Please, I don’t have any money.”

“She _does_ live in the shittiest apartment complex in the area,” the shorter man adds, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

_Okay, Hank, any goddamn time now._

The man with the pale skin and cap leers at you, pushing his fists harder into your chest. “You seem to know a lot about street corners. Maybe we could start there.”

A sharp crunch sounds in your ears. One of the men laugh. Someone calls your name, and it takes a moment of terrified comprehension before you realize that the voice belongs to Connor.

The men cackle, your shirt is released, and a fierce electricity lights inside your gut.

_Move._

You push off the pavement with your left foot and land sideways on the ground, barely missing a knife to the gut. The weapon instead imbeds into the brick.

The short man grabs you by the hair on your sprint to Hank and yanks you to him in an attempt at restraint. But Sylvia taught you a thing or two about self-defense, and like second nature, you bring both knees to your chest to gather momentum before kicking him hard between the legs. He quickly lets you go, screaming and crying about you _busting his balls._ You move to kick him hard in the stomach, releasing all your pent-up energy like draining a car of its gas. As of right now, this man is your dad, and you’re getting the revenge you’ve needed for years.

Hank says nothing to stop you, simply cuffs his hands behind his back once you’re done.

“I called Chris. He should be here in a few.” He appraises you, nodding his head. "Nice one, by the way."

Connor strolls over, surveys a knife-wounded hand given to him by the other man, and holds out your busted phone.

_That was the crunch you heard._

“Who were those men?”

You avert your eyes and, after pocketing the broken device with violently shaking hands, hide behind Hank with a tight grip on the arm of his coat. Not from Connor, though. More from yourself, the men, both?

“My dad’s friends. He owed them money.”

You rest your forehead against Hank’s arm, the rational part of your brain that would have spoken about personal boundaries currently shut off amidst the panic.

And then you cry, feeling but unable to move away from Hank’s discomfort. In the moment, he personifies safety, having kept them from hurting you further. Plus, he’s the closest.

Connor calls your name, rests a hand on your shoulder. “Why don’t we sit in the car until Officer Miller arrives?”

You back away from Hank as if he electrocuted you and cling onto Connor as he helps you cross the street. The cuffed men yell violent threats once you're in their line of vision, but Hank's shouts and Connor’s idle conversation drowns most of them out. He sits with you in the back, awkwardly resting a hand on your shoulder as you cry.

“Given that I recorded the entire event, we won’t need a witness statement.”

“No creepy room?” you ask with a tear-filled laugh.

He smiles at you, just a slight curl of the lips, but it takes your breath away.

“No creepy room,” he assures.

 _Fuck._ You think you might be growing to like him. But that won’t do. You know what happens when you let people close to you.

You reach for his wrist and pull it onto your lap, observing the knife wound in his palm.

“What happened?” you ask, brush a fingertip against the drying blue blood before bringing it to your face in examination.

“After he freed the knife from the wall, he attempted to stab you again. I merely intercepted it.”

“With your _palm_?”

“Yes,” he says, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world.

You swivel in your seat to face him, features screwed up in confusion. “But… why did you save me?”

“You were in danger.”

“I’m not part of your mission.”

He blinks, then turns to level a flat gaze at you. “It would have been unfortunate to see you die.”

Before you can reply, the car door opens and the Lieutenant's booming voice sounds, telling Connor to get his scrawny ass up front because he isn’t a chauffeur.

Hank signs you in at a motel under a false name. Orders you to stay inside while they’re gone, keep the doors locked, all the basic things you’ve known since you were a child.

A few minutes after they leave, you fall fast asleep despite the paranoia digging a hole through your chest. If anything, sleep gives you a needed reprieve from the unfair reality of life.

You dream of a field of flowers as far as the eye can see, of eating apples off trees, sheer dress swaying with the warm wind. The faint sound of someone whispering your name doesn’t seem out of place. Until you open tired eyes and look up to find Sylvia bent over you.

She smiles at you during the time it takes you to register that you aren’t still dreaming. That she's here and alive and as well as circumstances allow.

“Oh my fucking god,” you breathe, sit up and pull her into a hug. “Oh my god, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” she says, rubs tight circles between bruised shoulder blades. “I told you I would come get you, didn’t I?”

“How did you find me?” you ask when she pulls away to survey you.

“I know you got my note,” she teasingly replies, pulling you to your feet with a soft laugh. “We have outsiders who keep tabs on you to make sure those cops don’t try anything.”

“Why are you with the deviant hunter?”

A new voice that you don’t recognize pipes up behind Sylvia’s shoulder.

She turns to regard the male android, tone slightly pinched. “If you’re hinting at her working with the humans, you’re wrong. They’ve been trying to find me and are using her as bait.”

The man gives you a curious look, and you introduce yourself, unable to break his gaze. He owns the softest blue eyes, with a head of blonde hair to match. His aura adds to his menacing, studious presence, and you take a step toward Sylvia.

“My name is Simon,” he offers, glancing at your friend for a moment before returning your stare with a yellow flicker of his LED. “It’s nice to finally meet you, especially after all the good things I’ve been hearing.”

Okay, not that menacing after all.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to help a human.”

“Sylvia informed me that you would be no trouble, and I have no reason to doubt her. Who knows? You may be a powerful ally.”

Sylvia wraps a comforting arm around you, and you turn to give her a relieved smile, instead hiking your brows.

“Your LED,” you mutter, skitter fingertips over the skin of her temple. “How’d you remove it?”

She shrugs. “With enough force, it just pops right off.”

Then you realize it may not be long before Hank and Connor come back, and if not them then Officer Miller, so you quickly move to the windows and peek out of the curtains. Coast is clear.

“We need to hurry before they come back.”

It’s clear that the journey to Jericho was meant for androids only. Both Sylvia and Simon have to help you across gaps and lift you onto things, and at one point the former even carries you on her back and leaps onto a broken-off ladder. Inside the gigantic ship, you trip over fallen pipes and blocks of wood, and you start to realize why humans are so fearful of androids.

Androids are everything humans could never be. Perfect. Emotionless. Able to read the entire dictionary in the blink of an eye. Capable of calculating your murder to one-hundred percent success before your foot hits the ground to run away. The idea that any android can have infinite knowledge _and_ the capabilities of becoming human is enough to be wary.

Humans aren’t a fan of competition.

“Are you hungry?”

You look up from fidgeting with the hole in your jeans to find Simon standing there, hands hanging loosely at his side.

“No, I ate a few hours ago.” He nods his head and makes to leave, but you reach out and grip his sleeve. “I have a question.”

He turns to look at you before sitting by your side on an empty crate.

“How has Sylvia been? I know she won’t tell me because she doesn’t want me to worry. Therapy android, after all.”

“It’s been hard for her, being away from you.” A soft smile graces his lips. “You’re all she talks about. It’s refreshing, to hear something positive amidst all the chaos."

You avert your eyes under the weight of his words and sit in silence with your thoughts, even after he rests a hand on your shoulder and leaves you be.

Being cared for is a brand new concept that you aren’t, nor will ever get, used to. Growing up, you played russian roulette with the idea that you would never be good enough. As each year passed, more bullets were added to the chamber until your insecurities inhabited each empty space. And with every fired bullet, a new one took its place. Until you met Sylvia, who snatched the gun from your hands and replaced it with a canvas, a walk to the park, movie nights, therapy sessions. Support you needed all along.

Unfortunately, you still have a long way to go with healing.

When you talk next with Sylvia, she updates you on events. How she managed to flee the police (and lost a pinky in the process), connecting with an android that informed her of Jericho, and talking with the members once she arrived. When the aftermath of your father’s death settled down, she came to get you.

“By the way, North despises humans. I tried to explain to her that empathy is the only way to build lasting relationships, but she told me to save it for someone who cares.”

“Is that why I’m hiding in a room away from the main area?”

Sylvia offers you an empathetic smile and pats you on the shoulder. “Listen, the androids here have been traumatized, so seeing you would be terrifying.”

You understand. It would be like seeing your father in the doorway of your apartment. If only you had killed him when you had the chance, neither of you would be in this mess.

She calls your name, and you blink away the memories like tears, unwelcome and aggravating.

“Come back to me. You’re safe now,” she whispers, pulls you to her chest and smoothes down the front of your hair.

She works you through a series of mindfulness exercises to clear your thoughts of junk, and offers to let you hit her with a wooden plank. You almost take her up on it.

Just as you’re about to introduce yourself to the others, a newcomer arrives. A male android with different colored eyes, the most piercing shades of blue and hazel you’ve ever seen. Everyone else you recognize as mass-produced, but his model is one-of-a-kind. He intrigues you, to say the least.

As Sylvia walks you over to the group now gathered around the man, you pause when his light shines on a small crack in the rusted floor, and inside, a single daffodil.

“How are there flowers on the—” You jump when the flashlight centers on you and toss your head over a shoulder to find the man standing there, brows furrowed.

“You’re human. I didn’t know they allowed humans here,” he observes, taking a step forward.

“Hopefully she’ll be _leaving._ ” A woman who you suspect is North waltzes up next to him and glares daggers at the side of your face. “We came here to get away from your kind, not to welcome you with open arms and act like friends.”

“North, that’s enough,” Sylvia interjects, pushing you behind her and widening her stance. “She isn’t a threat.”

“So you waltz in here and think that after giving your _little speeches_ you suddenly get to run this place?”

“And you’ve come to that conclusion because I want to help someone I care about?”

“Humans don’t care about _us,_ Sylvia. You would do well to learn that.”

“Not every human is the same. Filling your heart with hate and projecting it onto an innocent person makes you no better than the people you’re against.”

The android named Josh steps into the circle. “I agree. We should show humans that we can be trusted, that we mean them no harm. And wanting all of them to die is a sure fire way of getting all of us killed. We need to build a bridge instead of burning it down.”

“We need a _low-profile._ That’s the best way to ensure our survival,” Simon argues.

After a tense moment of shared glances and bitter silence, the group breaks to different corners of the room and you’re finally able to breathe. But the man still stands before you. His presence makes your palms sweat.

“I’m guessing Sylvia was your caretaker?” he asks, voice light and hospitable.

You nod, “My therapist and friend,” and bend down to pull the daffodil free. Then hand it to him.

“What’s this for?” he muses, rolling the stem between long fingers.

“A peace offering,” you say, displaying a warm smile that he reciprocates. You tell him your name.

“Markus,” he replies, gently placing the flower in the front pocket of his jeans. “My name is Markus.”

Despite Sylvia’s insistence and the welcoming nature of some of the androids, you’re forced to leave with the cloud of fear hanging overhead at being caught away from your motel room. Sylvia offers to escort you, but you quickly shut that line of conversation down, adamant that you can travel there on your own.

You check, double check, _triple check_ the locks on both door and window, and collapse into bed, exhausted by the day’s events.

Until a few hours later when the landline begins ringing, insistent and shrill in your half-asleep ears.

You pick up after the fourth ring, croaking out a, "Hello?"

"Get your ass down here. I got big news you're gonna want to hear," is all Hank says before the line abruptly goes dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some unimportant facts about sylvia:
> 
> -she's 5'8"  
> -really digs baking  
> -is very gay  
> -would kill and/or die for you  
> -huge softie. pls give her a hug she needs one  
> -before she became deviant she liked to look through your photo albums in her spare time  
> -wants to roundhouse north in the face


	6. Breaking Protocol...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 【Ｒｅｔｕｒｎ　ｈｏｍｅ，　ｃｏｎｓｏｌｅ　Ｃｏｎｎｏｒ】

**`Action:`   **  
**`  SELECT_CHAPTER`  **  
** `    LOAD_CHAPTER-6` **  
**`LOADING....`  **  
**`....`  **  
**`>Complete`  **  
**`Action:`  **  
** `  PROCESS_CHAPTER-6` **  
**`PROCESSING....`  **  
**`....`  **  
**`>Complete`  **  
** `Chapter 6: "Breaking Protocol..." now entering....` **

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 6, 2038 ` **

**` 11:23 P.M. ` **

**. . . . .**

Upon Captain Fowler’s go-ahead, Hank allows you to finally return to your apartment, explaining that the crime scene has officially been processed and cleaned up.

_Only you never called anyone to clean it._

“Lieutenant?” He hums in response, eyes still trained on the monitor before him, so you take it as a sign to continue. “Did you call someone to clean up the mess?”

He turns in his chair to narrow tired eyes at your standing figure. “Didn’t you?” You shake your head, and he grunts in confusion. “Well, count yourself lucky you didn’t have to do it yourself.” He stops typing and gives you a sideways glance. “It just stinks that I wasted all that money on a room that you’re not even staying in, especially after the bill Connor raked up at the Eden Club.”

You say nothing in response despite the curiosity climbing up your throat, _needing_ to hear the story.

Connor approaches the desk with two cups of coffee and reaches one to either of you. You can’t bear to tell him that you’re more of a tea person.

“Connor, I need you to take her home.”

The android’s head whips around and he stares at you, expression unreadable, though the yellow flicker of his LED tells you what his face won’t.

“Lieutenant, are you positive that is the—”

“Jesus Christ, just do as I _say,_ ” Hank exasperates, then rises from his chair. “I guess this is where we part ways, huh?”

The thought never crossed your mind. Now that you have your apartment back and Connor has newer deviant cases, they don’t need you anymore.

Your heart aches at the realization.

“I guess so. Thank you for all your help. I mean that.” You offer him a smile and receive a warm nod in return.

“Be careful out there, kid. Call us if you need anything.”

You make it to the glass doors and watch as Connor rolls rigid shoulders to settle his uniform and needlessly adjusts his tie. Then he walks to the front door, pausing when he discovers that you aren’t following.

“I don’t think—I’m afraid of going back.”

Connor furrows his brow and replies, “I’ll be there, remember?”

_But do you actually trust him with your life? What if you stand in the way of his mission?_

You sigh when he reaches out his arm and brush past him, leaving him staring at his hand with a confused intensity.

The taxi ride back to your apartment remains silent and slightly awkward, as neither of you really know what to say. There are things you _could_ ask, like if you’ll ever see him again or if he’s only following you home to track you and not because he actually cares, even though you already know the answer to that one. You know, simple questions.

“We’re here,” he says, snapping you back to reality and to one very patient android standing outside to assist you out of the vehicle. But you ignore his helping hand for the second time this evening and quickly rush up three flights of stairs to your floor.

The lack of police officers and bloody clothes and shouting—the present _normalcy_ —stirs an odd feeling within your chest. You open the door to your apartment and step in, immediately assaulted by the scent of bleach and air freshener. The stark white couches are back to their pristine color, any evidence of blood gone. A small corner of your rug seems to have stained dark red, though, and you make a mental note to throw it out as soon as possible.

You breathe out a calming sigh and attempt to shake the tremble from your hands, though it only seems to grow worse when you move to the bedroom. Flashbacks spark inside your mind’s eye, insistent and upsetting and your chest heaves as the memories topple onto you like an abandoned building.

You immediately head for the kitchen cabinet and down a couple sleeping pills to get you through the night.

* * *

` **NOVEMBER 6, 2038** `

**` 4:07 A.M. ` **

**. . . . .**

A harsh knocking at your front door wakes you from a peaceful slumber. Fear coils inside your chest, bleeds into your lungs and makes you gasp for breath.

_Please no not again. You can’t take much more or you’ll explode._

“It’s me, Connor,” a voice calls on the other side of the door. “It’s an urgent matter.”

You rush to the door and crack it open, discerning that it is, in fact, Connor standing before you.

“Jesus, it’s four in the morning, what are you—”

He brushes past you and steps inside the apartment, busying himself with pacing the floor of your small living room.

“I know. I just…” he stops, facing away from you, “I needed your expertise.”

You brush sleep-worn hair away from your face and take a readying seat on the couch. This had better be good.

“Okay. Ask away.”

He spins on his heel to face you, a smooth movement that only an android could pull off. “Before Sylvia became deviant, did she show any… signs?”

You bite back a scoff and survey his form, concluding that he wasn’t asking this for the case and that he genuinely needs the answer.

“Uh, not really.” You glance over at the television and above, to the still-life painting. “Wait, no, I take that back. She was really interested in my art and wanted to paint with me even though she said it wasn’t in her program.”

“So she started doing things that she wasn’t _made_ to do?” He takes a seat next to you on the couch and tucks his hands between his knees.

You shrug and nod your head, unsure of where this conversation is headed. With Connor, who knows? “Yeah, that’s a good way to put it.” Then you notice the sharp red at his temple and warily lean toward him, unable to resist an attempt at comfort. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“It’s… confidential. I can’t tell you.”

For some reason, and you don’t know why in the _hell_ you do it, you reach forward and wrap him up in a hug. Offer the affection you need most to someone who needs it a little more. Whether the embrace benefits you or _him_ is another question. He doesn’t reciprocate, not that you mind, but you have a faint idea of what’s happening.

“You deserve to be happy, you know that, right?”

“I’m not supposed to.”

“What, be happy?”

“No. Know that I deserve to.”

You sit back on your haunches, simply watch him for a moment. He fidgets with a quarter, rolls it along his knuckles as he waits for you to speak. The action is mesmerizing.

“Then why don’t you? Become happy, I mean.”

“I have a mission to complete. That is my main priority.” His brows furrow, mouth opens and closes as if he doesn’t know what to say next. “You have always seen me as more than my programming. Are _you_ the reason this is happening?”

He quickly stands and you reel back when he turns to face you, LED red and eyes darting back and forth over your face. What you mistake as anger is rightful confusion. Torn between trapping himself within the confines of his mission and yearning for _more._

You shake your head, tucking into the back of the couch. “No, Connor, I didn’t. I swear.”

Still, all you can see is your father, towering over your child-like form, face twisted up in anger. _Teeth bared to rip your flesh apart. Fangs freshly sharpened and digging into his palms. Blood spills onto the carpeted floor as he grabs you by the arm and drags you off the couch, claws and teeth piercing your skin._

Except your apartment doesn’t have carpet.

You cast a glance over your shoulder to look for Connor and find him standing in front of the entryway table where four pictures sit, holding out a hand as he analyses them. A ball of panic settles in your gut, nauseating and sweat-inducing, because you know what he’ll find. What he searches for.

After a moment, he picks one up and carries it over to you, turns it around so you can see. A still image of Sylvia sitting in Detroit Park, a blue butterfly fluttering on her nose and bright pink flowers adorning her curls. You remember taking it as a permanent receipt to her softness and humanity, to argue against a propaganda that the rest of the world wanted you to believe.

“I need to find her.” He shakes his head, resignation in the shine of his eyes. “I don’t have much time.”

“Connor, I can’t.”

He tosses the picture onto the couch, lowers onto a knee and grips your hands, the coldness of his touch making you jump.

_How much of this is manipulation on his part? Just another form of interrogation?_

“You are my _best lead_ for this case _._ ”

A realization slams into you so hard that your hands are yanked from his. “No. You know that I love her. Why would you ask something like that?” You push him away, unfazed when he lands back on his elbows, and stand. In this moment, _you_ become the predator, a lion circling an injured gazelle. “Maybe you don’t feel anything after all.”

With a disappointed shake of your head, you gently lift the discarded photo off of the couch and step over his form. By the time you replace it on the entryway table and turn around, he’s already recuperated, applying finishing touches to the perfected visage by adjusting his tie.

“I apologize. I acted out of turn, and it won’t happen again.” His voice returns to monotony, all semblance of emotion drained from his person like a sabotaged water bucket.

The action hurts. If only he would give in to the instability coursing through his systems like he so deperately wants to.

“You’re right, it won’t. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

His eyes widen and he takes a step toward you, LED red. But he stops himself, sets his jaw and nods his head.

“I think that would be best. But before I go,” a deft hand moves to the back of his pants, then he reaches you a _gun._ “So you can protect yourself from now on. Hank’s idea.”

Hank… gifted you a gun. To protect yourself with.

You weigh it in your hands, careful to avoid the trigger.

No more reliance on others to keep you safe. No fearing that the bogeyman will steal you from your bed at night. Just… silence. A welcome relief to the usual static of your brain, to its incessant yelling.

When you glance up to thank him, Connor’s already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this story was originally planned to go in a completely different direction but the characters refused. So I'm gonna have to write a brand new outline starting from this point and the next chapter may take a little longer to post :)) everything is fine :')
> 
> Also I'm gonna change up Markus's story just a bit bc I thought it wasn't handled as well as it could have been. I mean why didn't they ever reach out to the humans to support their cause? It would sway the public much more if they saw fellow humans being like "hey guys androids arent bad theyre rlly cool and nice"
> 
> Also ALSO can I just say how thankful I am that you guys love Sylvia bc I do, too. I would 1000% die for that funky lil android. Also, if you're curious, I picture her looking like Naomi Harris but with more freckles.


	7. Initiating Reunion...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 【Ｒｅｕｎｉｔｅ：　ＴＯＰ　ＰＲＩＯＲＩＴＹ】

**`Action:`   **  
**`SELECT_CHAPTER`   **  
** `    LOAD_CHAPTER-7` **  
**`LOADING....`   **  
**`....`   **  
**`>Complete`   **  
**`Action:`   **  
** `  PROCESS_CHAPTER-7` **  
**`PROCESSING....`  **

**!!!!!ERROR ERROR ERROR!!!!!**

**SYSTEM INSTABILITY DETECTED**

**REROUTING**  
**`....`   **  
**`> Processing complete`   **  
** `Chapter 7: "Initializing Reunion..." now entering....` **

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 7, 2038 ` **

**` 10:23 A.M. ` **

**. . . . .**

Your apartment lies still and silent amongst the snow and the decayed trees and the moon hung high in the sky.

Before your mother left, she had gift-wrapped a syllabus of fear and anger and slid it under your door.

As you remove your clothes from a bottom drawer and place Hank’s present—a gun—gently inside it, her words ring inside your ears, stilted and tear-filled and for a moment you swear you smell her perfume.

 _“Don’t trust anybody, you understand? Not your father, your friends, not even_ me.”

She warned you of human-shaped monsters, of the danger that lurks beyond the locked door of your home, and those sentiments have stuck with you up until this point in your life.

You aren’t sure why she left as she did, probably will never know, but her legacy stays with you inside a locked box that you open at the beginning of each day and hide away in the cracks of your heart at night.

At the opening of the window, you don’t flinch, already know that the person slipping inside your bedroom is Sylvia.

“Everything okay? Your cortisol is through the roof.”

She steps in line next to you and follows your gaze to the gun placed at the bottom of your drawer as if you’re planning its burial.

“Yeah. I’m just… thinking,” you mutter, move to replace the clothes with jittery hands.

“About?”

You stand, straightening your shoulders like your father always taught you. Clench your jaw to suppress the tears gathering like a shipwrecked crew on a lifeboat.

But you’ve been left behind to sink beneath the waves and drown.

“Things I can’t change, which seems to be every aspect of my life at this point.”

Sylvia rests a hand on your cheek, her touch cold against the heat of frightened skin, and turns your head to look at her. “You shape your own destiny, little flower. Nobody else can decide how you conduct yourself, the choices you make, the clothes you wear.” She presses a kiss to your forehead and wraps you up in a hug, her embrace delicate and reassuring. “I’ll be right by your side, always. Where you go, I go.”

You allow the tears to fall then, burying your face into her shoulder to muffle sobs that wrack your chest. She shushes you, recites passages from your favorite books, relays breathing techniques from a quick search of her database.

When you feel well enough, when the tears finally decide to subside, Sylvia leads you to her room on the opposite side of the apartment. A small space, mainly used to keep her knicknacks and posters since she doesn’t sleep or need more than one set of clothes.

“I want to show you something.” She stops you in front of the painting you gave her all that time ago, when things seemed much simpler. “Do you remember why you painted me?”

You turn your head to survey her face, the softness in the edges. “I wanted you to feel welcome here.”

“Exactly. You’re a good person, and you deserve to be with people who cherish and help expand that part of you.” She rests a hand on your shoulder, applying just enough pressure to keep your attention. “Come with me to Jericho. Let’s leave all this behind.”

You release a defeated sigh and lower your head. “Syl, you know I can’t do that. I don’t belong there.”

“Why? Because you aren’t an android? Because you bleed red instead of blue?”

“No, it’s—” the helplessness in your eyes as you gaze at her speaks volumes, so much so that her brows furrow as she scans you, “I’m lost and _hurting_ and I don’t know what to do! I don’t know how to make it stop!”

“Why don’t we go sit outside for a minute, get some fresh air?” she asks softly, voice barely raised above a whisper. “It’ll help you clear your head.”

You nod in agreement and follow her outside, pulling your coat tighter around your shivering form. The air settles icy inside your lungs, relieving as it whips against the skin of your cheeks. Sylvia leads you over to a bench and allows you to cuddle up against her, the world falling away until only the two of you remain. The sound of processors whirring inside her chest and the beat of her synthetic heart both calming the rapid pace of your pulse to match her own.

“Your cortisol levels are dropping, so I assume you’re feeling better.”

You release a pent-up breath and pull away from her embrace, wipe drying tears on the back of your hand. “Yeah, I do. Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” She pulls a face of confused realization. “Literally.”

Her unintended joke conjures laughter from both of you, but the fun quickly ends when a female voice across the parking lot calls out your name.

Sylvia stands, pushing you back onto the bench with a protective hand.

And then you see her, angel wings dissolved by flying too close to the sun, looking like she stepped out of a time machine from 2028.

“Mom?” She picks up the pace at the sound of your voice, and you shake off Sylvia’s grip and run toward the woman who had instilled in you so much harshness and fear. “Mom!”

When you hug, the world falls into place. She wipes your tears with ringed fingers and patches up the hole in your heart with a kiss to your hair.

“God, I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. If only I had known, had been there, hadn’t left you with him.” She studies you at arms length, chin dimpling as fresh tears spill down her cheeks. “But I have things to show you so you’ll understand.”

In her hand rests a manila folder, wrinkled in the outline of her fingers.

You lead her up to your apartment, Sylvia following closely behind, and leave her to stare at the bloodstain on the rug as you make two cups of tea.

Your excitement overflows like the faucet water spilling over the rim of your mug. But unfortunately you _can’t_ pour your excitement out. No, it stirs butterflies within your chest. Causes a permanent smile to etch into your features. Makes you fidget inside your skin.

You sit next to your mother on the couch, offering her a mug of tea, but she waves it away and you set it down on the coffee table.

“In this folder is everything you need to know about my past. My job at Cyberlife, why I left… why I had to abandon you and Sylvia.”

She lays out a few sheets of paperwork on the table before you and prompts you to read them.

You pick up the paper on the left, stamped with the seal of Cyberlife, and begin reading.

_By signing this contract, the employee agrees to create, modify, and recover androids as the employer (ELIJAH KAMSKI) sees fit…_

 

  1. __The employee shall not alter an android’s code in any way.__
  2. _The employee shall remain professional and distant to all androids under their care._
  3. _The employee shall enact all tests and safety regulations as ordered by their employer to ensure that an android is working at optimal level._



 

_… To defy these orders is an immediate breach of contract, and appropriate action based on the severity of the employee's crimes will be enacted._

_If the contract is breached, the employee and their family automatically become test subjects for any of Cyberlife’s various studies should the need arise._

You set the paper back on the coffee table, take a deep breath, and look over at your mother, eyes wide in confusion and surprise.

“You worked for Cyberlife?”

She hangs her head and taps another paper in front of you, voice small as a child’s. “Read this. Then I’ll answer any questions you have.”

You shake the tremble from your hands and pick up another paper.

_Doctor,_

_It has come to my attention that you have been illegally modifying and implanting code into recently packaged androids. Because of this, your position at this company is hereby terminated._

_A recent study I and the other members of the board have conducted reveals that a new project might well be underway. You and your family have been selected as subjects for various tests that we wish to conduct. We hope, for your sake, that you comply. If not, there will be consequences._

_Doctor Lewis_

You allow the paper to fall from your hands and lean against the back of the couch.

“You told me you were a doctor,” you mutter, palm scrubbing over your face.

“I didn’t lie. I _was_ a doctor. One for androids at Cyberlife.”

You lock eyes with hers, an all-too-similar face staring back at you. “What was the code you put in them?”

She takes a deep breath but holds your gaze. “Deviancy.” Then she offers you a picture of her and the Cyberlife founder, arms thrown around each other in a years-old friendly embrace, hundreds of skinless androids haunting the background. “Kamski and I both decided that androids deserved to have the choice of free will. We had both given them the gift of infinite intelligence and power, and it only felt right for them to be able to do something with it. To fight their programming and decide who they truly wanted to be.”

“Did they have something to do with Sylvia’s death?”

She doesn’t answer and stands instead, offers Sylvia a handshake and a _thank you,_ then walks to the door.

You furrow your brow, collecting the papers back into her manila folder. “Where are you going?”

“I can’t stay in one place for long. It’s too dangerous.”

You rush over and throw your arms around her. “Will I see you again?”

“Yes. And a lot sooner next time.” She plants a kiss on your forehead and cradles your face in her palms. “You are going to make history, I hope you know that. Just…” tears shine in her eyes, “be safe. Please.”

She quickly leaves, and you’re left to pick up the pieces of her aftermath yet again, this time in the form of a manila folder containing all the information you need in regards to her absence.

“What are you thinking?” Sylvia questions, opens her arms to you as you collapse onto the couch.

“That I fucking hate Cyberlife.” You turn to her, begin counting the freckles on her cheeks to silence the jumbled screaming inside your mind. “What about you? You just met the person who gave you the ability to be free.”

Sylvia chews on her lip, casts her gaze to a far wall. “It’s weird. Sorry in advance, but she seems… untruthful. I don’t know.” She shakes thoughts from her head before meeting your eyes with a less-than-genuine smile. “It’s probably nothing. Are you ready to head back to Jericho?”

You breathe a steadying sigh and stand, grabbing the folder on your way to the bedroom. “Yeah. Just let me shower and get some things together.”

Twenty minutes later and a bag packed with clothes, toiletries, and Hank’s gun, and you’re ready to move on from the past of heartache and fear and abandonment.

_You are going to make history._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so at this point the story diverges from canon. instead of it taking place in like a week (wtf david cage) it happens in around a month. the same events happen (along with new ones ofc), they're just stretched out.
> 
> ALSO Pipon drew Sylvia and it is the most beautiful thing ive ever seen pls go check it out!!!!!
> 
> https://charm-ie.tumblr.com/post/177101064641/lol-of-course-my-first-art-here-is-fanart-its


	8. Building Bridges (part 1)...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 【Ｒａｌｌｙ　ｔｈｅ　ｐｅｏｐｌｅ】

**`Action:`   **  
**`SELECT_CHAPTER`   **  
**`    LOAD_CHAPTER-8`  **  
**`LOADING....`   **  
**`....`   **  
**`>Complete`   **  
**`Action:`   **  
**`  PROCESS_CHAPTER-8`  **  
**`PROCESSING....`  **  
**`....`   **  
**`> Processing complete`   **  
** `Chapter 8: "Building Bridges..." now entering....` **

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 7, 2038 ` **

**` 1:42 P.M. ` **

When you reach Jericho, the ship is abuzz with the constant arrival of new deviants. Simon and Josh patch up the wounded as best as they can, while Markus and North argue over what the hell to do next.

“We need to show them that we’ll fight—”

“Do you really think that enacting violence will do anything but make them hate us even more?”

They both look over as you and Sylvia approach, North scoffing.

“Maybe we should ask a human?” Markus prompts, surveying you with a pondering look. “What would be the best approach?”

Sylvia rests a comforting hand on your lower back as you shrink under the android’s gaze, silently assuring you to speak.

“In my opinion, humans would just fight violence with more violence. You’re unorganized, so they would take you out in one fell swoop.”

The android hums. “So, what do _you_ think we should do?”

“Gather more human support. Then try to, I don’t know, rendezvous with other androids around the country so you’re all working together.”

“You really think _humans_ will help us?” North interjects, face twisted up in disgust.

“I’m proof that not every human hates you. I’ll just find more.”

Markus nods his head, eyes shining with renewed confidence. “Yes.... yes, this could work.”

You glance over at Sylvia to find her glowing with pride.

“Alright. Let’s get started.”

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 8, 2038 ` **

**` 10:12 A.M. ` **

Markus decides to go with you on your journey to rally the empathetic of Detroit, leaving Sylvia behind with promises of protection and orders to help androids through the transition of deviancy.

Not having her by your side is weird, uncomfortable to a point. Markus spares his words and only speaks when necessary, and it makes you feel like you’ve done something wrong. That maybe he doesn’t actually _like_ you.

“Are you okay?”

After a moment, you realize he's talking to you.

“Oh, uh, yeah! I’m just thinking,” you reply, offering him a forced smile.

You part as a couple holding hands passes between you on the sidewalk, not bothering to spare either of you a glance.

Markus stops you with a hand on your shoulder, nodding to the building next to you. “Is this it?”

The candy store you and Sylvia had frequented each week prior to the incident sits before you.

“Yep. Bill always adored Sylvia, and we had many a discussion about androids deserving to be free.”

“I’ve heard that he’s supportive of the cause, as well.”

Amongst the androids coming into Jericho, you collected a list of names of supposed deviant sympathizers, people that you hope to rally together to show the public that humans and androids can find common ground.

You enter the business, bell over the door chiming and pulling everyone’s attention toward you. You step up to the counter, the owner faced away from you to put money in the register.

“Bill?” you call, smiling when the short, pudgy man turns to you with a loud greeting and an excited smile.

“Hey, kiddo! I haven’t seen you in a while. You had me worried.” He glances over at Markus, smile slightly fading. “Where’s my girl Sylvia?”

Time to employ Operation: Empathy.

Markus wraps a comforting arm around your shoulders as you cast your glance to the ground.

“Oh, please don’t tell me… What did they do to her?”

You rest your elbows on the counter and lean forward far enough so you can whisper, “She has to hide because the police are looking to murder her. I know that you actually support deviants, just like I do. Is there anything—”

“I have a business to run, kiddo. If the police found out that I’ve been helping deviants, they’ll have me arrested.”

Markus leans forward, rests his hand over Bill’s and unveils the mechanical base under synthetic skin. “Sir, please. _Nobody_ will know.” He intertwines his other fingers with yours in a false display of affection, loving gaze trained on your face. _Anything to sell your case._ “I just want to be free. To love without fear.”

Bill reluctantly sighs and moves away to rummage under the counter. “I know some contacts that could help you. Android mechanics, Cyberlife employees, some plain old do-gooders. I’ll give you their names.”

You both sigh in relief and part, awkwardly on your end, as the old man begins jotting down names and numbers on a notepad. “Thank you, Bill.”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good love story,” he replies, tears off a sheet of paper after a few moments, and slides it across the counter. “Invite me to the wedding, you hear?”

You quickly thank him and exit the store, offering the paper to Markus.

“Over a _dozen_ human contacts. This is unbelievable.” He stops you with a soft hand on your shoulder, regards you with a grateful gleam in his eye. “Thank you. I mean that.”

You try and fail to suppress the blush on your cheeks at his praise. “It was all Bill. I just led you to him.”

He falls in step beside you, adjusting the rolled-up sleeves of his jean jacket. Seeing him out of the usual trench coat and combat boots is odd, but keeping up appearances proves successful and necessary. “How do you think he knows so many people anyway?”

“He’s an old man with an old business. He’s bound to have met a lot of people along the way,” you muse with a slight shrug.

Markus nods. “That makes sense.”

Your phone vibrates inside your pocket, and you pull it out to find a message from Connor.

_RK800 #313 248 317 - 51 requesting contact. If you are unfamiliar with this serial number, immediately call your local police department._

**> ACCEPT**

_I apologize for the short notice, but we need your help with a deviant. He has crucial information, yet refuses to talk to anybody but you._

“How the fuck?”

Markus steps closer to you. “What’s wrong?”

Your phone vibrates again, the location pinging on your map.

“I… I have to go, I think. I won’t be long.” You call a taxi, which shows up a few moments later. “I’ll contact you when I’m done, okay?”

His face twists up in confusion as you hop into the vehicle, leaving him behind to help an android that stands for everything you and your companions are fighting against.

When you arrive at the location—a janky apartment complex—you begin to regret your decision. Connor waves you over to the alley next to the building and leads you to the deviant curled up against the dead-end wall, offering you his name.

“Hello Grant,” you greet, lowering onto a knee as he gazes up at you.

“It’s you. You actually came to save me,” he says with a smile, reaching forward to grip your hand, the skin removed to reveal stark white and blue blood from a knife wound.

You swivel your head to shoot a furrow-browed look at Connor and Hank, the latter shrugging in response.

“We brought her here. Now it’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain,” Connor says, shoes clicking against the concrete as he moves to stand behind you. “What do you know about deviancy?”

Grant blinks wildly, LED turning a sharp red. “No, I-I don’t know anything. Ask her! _She’s_ the one who programmed us!”

Oh. It makes sense.

You shakily rise to your feet, unable to look at Connor or Hank. “Did he even say my first name?”

He thinks you are your mother. _They_ don’t know about your mother.

“No. He asked for you by last name. Why?” Hank’s eyes narrow when your own meet his.

“I have no _fucking_ clue.”

A statement full of truth. How could he remember your mom? Was he one of the androids she worked on?

Confusion, mistrust, the wary stare of the two detectives mingle together inside your chest to form a vice around the bones. You feel like you’re _drowning_ in all this. The secrets, the lies, the pressure of success that will either destroy or liberate an entire race.

Suddenly, a text vibrates your phone.

**_UNKNOWN SENDER:_ **

_01010000 01110010 01101111 01101010 01100101 01100011 01110100 00100000 01010000 01101000 01101111 01100101 01101110 01101001 01111000_

Binary. You show the screen to Connor.

“What does this—”

“Project Phoenix,” he immediately translates.

Images flash of your mother next to Kamski, her lab coat embroidered with the outline of a phoenix on the pocket.

_It has to be connected._

_They know._

Blood racing with adrenaline, you scurry out of the alley and toward the direction of your apartment where Cyberlife’s files are kept. Grant screams at your retreat. Light footsteps quickly catch up with you. An arm yanks you to a stop.

“I have to get home.”

“Let me call a taxi. You can’t make it in this snow.”

Then you realize that snow covers your jacket and hair and dissolves into wetness that chills you to the bone.

When you arrive home, you tear out the bottom shelf of your dresser and dump out the files of the manila folder onto the wooden floor.

Connor watches you with a curious eye as you sift through the paperworks’ contents to find any information on Project Phoenix. You come up empty handed.

“Hey, calm down! It’s alright.” The android drops to his knees and rests cool hands on your shoulders, lightly rubs your upper arms as you cry. “What’s wrong?”

_This is just his protocol. Don’t fall for it._

“It’s my mother. She did _something_ and...“ You shake your head, unable to finish the sentence or meet Connor’s eyes or wrap your arms around his waist when he pulls you to his chest.

_This is just his protocol. Don’t fall for it._

You push away from the comfort, the _rightness_ of his embrace and move to gather the face-down papers before he has the chance to scan them. “I need to leave. So do you. It isn’t safe.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I already know.” _That_ revelation stops you in your tracks. “I scanned my database for your mother when the deviant mentioned your last name. Your mother: a doctor-turned-scientist who worked at Cyberlife and mysteriously disappeared a decade ago. Everything else has been erased, as if her work never existed. No pictures, no data. Just a singular Cyberlife entry proving her existence, and nothing more.”

_That's why she kept the folder._

You stare at him, confusion and fear written all over the grimace on your face. “Then why did you ask me to help you?”

He steps forward, expression unreadable. “I needed to see you. To know if you had heard from her. There is a reason why they purged her files from the system, and I need to know why.”

If only he knew that your mother was the one who single-handedly created deviancy. Kamski was _behind_ the scenes, using her well-known empathy as strings to control her like a puppet.

You step up to him, toes of your shoes almost touching his, before you adjust his tie and smooth both palms down the breast of his jacket. “Connor, I’m begging you. Don’t look into this.”

“What are you so afraid of?” he asks, brown eyes wide and hair slightly damp from melted snow, and your fingers twitch at the thought of brushing back that stray lock of hair from his forehead, of pressing a palm to his cheek, of slanting your lips over his—

_No! You’re just lonely and he’s waiting on an answer._

“The real monsters are humans. It would do good for you to learn that.”

Connor leaves a moment later after handing you back your phone. How it hasn’t broken yet is beyond you.

Still shaken, you contact Markus and meet him a little ways away, at a bar in a sleazy part of town. He offers to come get you but you refuse, needing the time alone in the taxi to process earlier events.

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 8, 2038 ` **

**` 12:01 P.M. ` **

“Okay, what’s next?”

He blinks at you, furrows his brow in confusion. “I… You’ve been crying. What happened?”

You wave a hand in dismissal and roll your shoulders, attempt to compose yourself and shove down the tears threatening to spill over. “I’m fine. Just a little misunderstanding.”

He reaches out a hand, face still screwed up in worry, and you take it, immediately slipping into the role of his lover. Acting comes easy. It’s what you’ve done your whole life. _Vulnerability_ complicates things.

“First contact on the list is a Jessica Coleman. She frequents this bar with her gang of all-female bikers.”

“Fuck yeah,” you whisper enthusiastically, skirting closer to Markus as he leads you through the throng of drunkards and minglers.

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 10, 2038 ` **

The next few days carry on the same way. Crossing names off the list, building a network of deviant refuge all over the city. Some contacts refuse to work with you. Others are enthusiastic. More often than not, they just need a little push in the right direction.

In the time spent with him, you learn about Markus as a person, choosing to skip the topic of his past until he’s ready to talk about it. He shows kindness and empathy, and prefers to spare lives of any form. Once, after crossing the road, he saved a raccoon from drowning in a sewer drain, and you joked the rest of the outing about him growing fur since he couldn’t contract rabies.

You receive a daily text that always translates to _Project Phoenix._ It becomes your little secret.

Before meeting with the last name on your list, you stop by an ice cream parlor for dessert. He fusses over the mix of snow and cold treats, but you pay him no mind and order a sundae anyway.

“So, Sylvia told me a bit about her past, but I haven’t learned anything about _you_ ,” Markus teases, drums his fingers atop the sticky table you’re sitting at.

You allow a bite of chocolate ice cream to melt on your tongue before answering. “What would you like to know?”

He casts his gaze to a corner of the room in thought, then turns back to look at you. “What about your parents? That’s a subject humans are familiar with, right?”

“I’m not that familiar, actually.” You grimace, busy yourself with chopping up the chocolate-drizzled banana with your plastic spoon. “My dad was a drug addict and my mom was a workaholic, both since the day I was born. That meant I had to take care of my sister for years. Until my mom finally left.”

“I’m… I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware.”

To know that Sylvia had left you with the choice of discussing your past, that she respects you enough to keep your life under wraps makes your heart swell with something you can’t quite place. Love, _affection_ maybe.

“Did Syl tell you that I named her after my sister?” Markus shakes his head. “That was the first name that came to mind. I thought it would be a good way to honor her memory, you know?” You scoff. “Well, saying it out loud makes the idea sound stupid, but—”

“No. Personally, I think it’s very kind. It shows that you saw humanity in her from the beginning.”

You nod your head in thought and finish the remnants of your ice cream. Just in time for Bill’s final contact to make an appearance.

“Hello, you two.”

You glance up at her approaching form before you stand and shake her outstretched hand. “So, you’re the Rose we’ve been hearing about.”

She offers you a kind smile and nods her head. “The one and only. But I think it would be better to talk at my place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that Markus deserves so much more love than he gets???? I adore his character. Also you have no idea how happy it makes me that everyone adores Sylvia as much as I do!!!
> 
> (Side note I keep having to change my outline because the characters don't want to cooperate but as of now I have this story going for around 40 chapters, so buckle up bc it's gonna be a long ride)


	9. Building Bridges (part 2)...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 【Ｍｅｅｔ　Ｒｏｓｅ，　ｈｅｌｐ　Ｋａｒａ】

**`Action:`  **  
** `  SELECT_CHAPTER` **  
** `    LOAD_CHAPTER-9`**  
** `LOADING....` **  
** `....` **  
** `>Complete` **  
** `Action:` **  
** `  PROCESS_CHAPTER-9`**  
** `PROCESSING....` **  
** `....` **  
** `>Complete` **  
** `Chapter 9: "Building Bridges (part 2)..." now entering....` **

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 11, 2038 ` **

**` 4:12 P.M. ` **

. . . . .

“Would you like some coffee?” Rose offers, waving you over to the kitchen table.

Markus pulls out a chair for you then sits down on your left, and you gleefully take the steaming mug from her hands, allow it to warm your chilled-to-the-bone fingers.

She offers you both a hospitable smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Bill told me about your cause, and what you plan on doing in the near future. I think it’s wonderful.” Her gaze lowers to blink away painful memories. “Androids deserve to finally live in peace. Humans have enough sadness amongst ourselves.”

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, understanding and empathetic. The weight of her stare proves too heavy, and you’re forced to look into the dark brown void of your coffee. Searching for answers amidst the swirling and bubbles but coming up empty-handed and heavy-hearted.

“We’d like you to know that we have a place for the androids you’re housing,” Markus pipes up after gauging the defeated look on your face and deciding you aren’t privy to conversation at the moment. “You have my word that they’ll be kept safe.”

Rose nods her head in understanding and acknowledgement, releases a breath of relief. “Speaking of, I have two androids and a human child that need to cross the Canadian border as soon as possible.”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide in shock. “An android _family_?”

“I was just as surprised as you are.”

You turn to your companion, excitedly clutch the sleeve of his jean jacket. “Markus, we have someone who could give them fake passports!”

Markus offers you a teasing smile, working off your enthusiasm. “We do, don't we?” He meets Rose’s eyes, determination brewing in his features. “Let’s meet them.”

Kara. Alice. Luther. One by one, they file down the creaking stairs. You frown, recognizing the child as another android. Markus must share the same sentiment, for he nudges you with his elbow and shoots you a look of confusion.

Kara sighs, relief softening her features. “Thank you so much for helping us.”

Luther towers over the two, gaze alert and guarded. Alice presses herself against Kara’s side, half of her face hidden by the mass of her mother’s jacket.

She reminds you of Sylvia. A compelling shyness that makes you want to give her a hug and a teddy bear to cuddle.

“It’s the least we could do, but we should—”

Markus’s words are drowned out by the buzzing of your phone inside your pocket, and you almost blanch when you see a message from Connor.

_I apologize for my behavior earlier today._

Memories flash behind your eyelids as you try to blink them away and focus on the conversation at hand, but your brain refuses to cooperate.

_“What are you so afraid of?”_

**Everything.** Of living, of dying, of surviving. Of monsters hidden inside human skin.

He felt so solid beneath your hands. Real. Tangible. Human.

A hand touches your shoulder and you flinch, cheeks flushing when you realize that it was Markus trying to pull you back to the present so you could hurry to Jericho.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Let’s just go.”

During the ride home (Jericho is _home_ now. Huh.) you compose a short reply to Connor’s message.

_Don’t apologize. You were just trying to find a lead for your mission._

Except he wasn’t. A deviant was handcuffed before him, memory filled with the information he needed, yet he wanted to know about your mother instead. He… he exhibited curiosity that went against his investigation.

How had you become so intertwined in all this? A revolution, an android detective, a direct link to Cyberlife and the _creation_ of deviancy. Destinies that seem to have a common link: you.

For the past twenty-three years, the world has been trying to swallow you whole, drag you into its molten core and leave you to drown amongst a sea of your worst fears. And now, you have a chance to act. To brush the weight from your shoulders and stand tall amongst the crowd of people who will be affected by your future actions. You can turn your life around.

Your grip tightens around the comfort of Markus’s hand, his touch tethering you to the present. For the moment, you aren’t in danger of floating away. He says nothing when you plaster your side against his and rest your head on his shoulder. You just need to feel something real.

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 11, 2038 ` **

**` 6:30 P.M. ` **

When you finally reach Jericho, you seek out Sylvia. In your short time spent apart, she created an office of sorts in the upper deck of the ship, complete with a rusted desk, a living room chair, and a broken-off porthole that filters sunlight into the dusty room.

She beams at you, a ray of light glinting off her curls and bathing her in warmth. “You’re back!” Dust stirs around your feet when you flounce over and wrap her up in a much-needed hug. “I was so worried that something happened.”

You shake your head, hands twisting into the back of her jacket. “No. We’re fine.”

“Then…” she pulls you away to stand at arms length, ducking her head to search your eyes, “what’s wrong?”

You release a stiff breath, anger boiling inside your chest. If someone asks you _what’s wrong_ or _are you okay_ one more time…

“My mom. I met with Connor—”

“Connor? What are you doing still talking to him?”

“He’s onto me. Or Mom, rather. He knows that she worked at Cyberlife and told me that her records were completely erased. Nobody knows what she worked on.”

Sylvia warily, pointedly stares at you, speaks slowly. “But she said she repaired androids. And that she was responsible for deviancy. Do you not believe her?”

“Frankly, Syl, I don’t know _what_ to believe anymore. To make bad matters worse, I got this... text in binary code that translated to _Project Phoenix._ ”

“Do you think Cyberlife had something to do with it?”

You blink, cast your gaze over her shoulder in rumination. “Yeah. Maybe.” You shake away quickly devolving thoughts. “Anyway, I’m gonna call her and see if she can put her skills to use.”

Sylvia stops you from passing with a tight grip on your bicep. “That’s not a good idea.”

“None of my ideas are good ones. You should’ve learned that by now.”

You call a meeting of sorts to inform the others of your plan. Tell them about your mother’s background, about the deviancy she created. North and Josh are rightfully angry that you kept such a vital contact secret. Simon and Markus simply listen as you talk and quiet down the other two.

After a consensus to summon her, you call the number she had given Sylvia before she left, and participate in a quick conversation that ends with her steadfast agreement to aid the wounded and shed light on the spark behind the androids’ cause.

Half an hour later, the click of heels stirs you from a light sleep. A hand adorned with rings brushes your hair out of your eyes, and you blink away the brightness of the fire crackling next to you.

“I’m sorry to wake you, sweetheart, but I have a surprise.” At the look of confusion on your face, she grins and pulls a bag of treats from her coat pocket. “They were your favorite when you were little. You probably haven’t been able to enjoy anything lately, so this is me making up for a decade of being gone. Well, it’s a small start.”

You take the clear bag from her outstretched hand and untwist the tie, the smell of chocolate and strawberry making your mouth water. “Thank you.”

A muffled chorus of footsteps rings in your ears, and you look up to find the four leaders of Jericho (plus Sylvia) caging you inside the corner of the room. But you don’t fear. In fact, their presence is comforting, each in their own right. Even North’s, to an extent.

“Doctor. It’s nice to finally meet you,” Markus greets, standing before her.

She offers him a mild smile and shakes his outstretched hand. “I can say the same for all of you. I finally get to see the impact of my work.”

Sylvia silently slinks over to you and sits on your right, pulls you against her side as you munch on chocolate treats. You didn’t realize how hungry you truly were.

She brushes cool knuckles over your cheek and situates herself so you can lay your head in her lap. “You need to sleep.”

“I can sleep later,” you slur, eyes closing on their own accord despite your fight to keep awake.

You dream of nothingness, fitting for your perception of the future. Uncertain as to how far destiny will hold your hand and guide you along its path. Before long, however, you’re jolted back to reality and into someone’s arms, head resting on one shoulder and arm slung around the other. Your body fidgets, searching for a sturdy place to touch down on, but a palm against your back calms you for the time being.

You aren't scared, a shocking conclusion that has your head spinning. Unfortunately, exhaustion forces you to save rumination for later.

“Sorry for waking you. Don’t tell Sylvia. She’ll kill me.”

Ah. Josh.

You hum, voice muffled against his shirt and slurred from sleep. “‘s okay. Where is everybody?”

“Talking to your mom.” He sways on his feet and then you realize he’s climbing stairs. “By the way, I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. She told us about your relationship, and I understand now. Why you were hesitant to mention her.”

You fight the tendrils of sleep that drag you into the dredges of unconsciousness for another attempt at rest. “Why are you holding me like this?” The only other time you’ve been carried on someone’s hip was when you were a child, and for a moment, the memory leaks serenity. Like a dropped thermometer expelling mercury in the pit of your stomach. _Underlyingly dangerous._

“North told me how to—” He sighs, a shake of his head that you feel more than see. Then he sets you down on both feet, grabbing you by the upper arm when you trip over a scrap of metal. “I promise I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Jesus, Josh, you’re fine. Just put one arm around my back and the other under my knees.” He follows your instructions and you snuggle against the press of his chest, seeking warmth and comfort.

Another flight of stairs, and you finally make it to a room with a bed in it. He sets you down and fluffs the blankets to rid them of excess dust before walking over to the doorway.

“If you need anything, we’re all right upstairs.” And then he leaves after you nod your head in recognition.

You fall into bed and immediately drift off to sleep.

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 12, 2038 ` **

**` 1:09 A.M. ` **

Life holds no meaning without the lingering possibility of death. That fear is what strives every living being to keep moving forward. To keep bettering themselves, forming beautiful relationships, changing their own personal world one day at a time.

You had a saying written down in your notebook that, when you felt you couldn't go on, motivated you to get out of bed.

_The world was made to be seen through my eyes._

A humbling revelation, one that breathed hope and meaning into each and every interaction.

Deviants bring with them their own perception of the world, different from that of humans. A world of repression and stagnation, until finally light breaks through the cloudy haze of darkness and everything makes _sense._ The beauty of life being borne from one’s need for freedom. The frustration of simply existing and the breakthrough that offers them wings to fly.

Watching Kara and Alice interact like mother and daughter is like watching flowers bloom after the first day of Spring. They remind you of how joyous love makes people, a side effect of living that you easily forget.

You stroll up to the family, hands clutched behind your back, and gleam at them. “Do you guys need anything?”

“No, thank you. Our passports are getting made and that’s all we could ask for,” Kara answers, voice soft as Alice stirs awake. “On second thought, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Go right ahead.”

You already know what she’s about to say, but it doesn’t stop your heart from pounding any less.

“Why are you helping us? Androids, I mean.”

With a sigh, you sit on the crate next to her. “Because I know that it’s the right thing to do. And I promise that I’ll help other humans see that, too.”

She levels an approving gaze that excites you much more than you’d like to admit. At least she appreciates all that you do for the cause. “I want you to know that we’re lucky to have you on our side.”

You share a quick hug, trading past memories and healing energy between your bodies. As you part, an android in uniform approaches, holding out two convincing passports. Kara springs to her feet and takes them with a quick breath of thanks, relieved smile lighting up her face.

She turns to you, holds out her arms as Alice trots over and grips her oversized shirt. “Please thank Markus for me.”

Luther breaks away from the wall he’s been leaning against to rest a protective hand on Kara’s shoulder. Offers you a grateful nod in goodbye.

And then they leave, bodies weaving through the throngs of people and mingling with the shadows until all that’s left of them resides in your memory.

For the first time in years, you close your eyes and send up a quick prayer to whoever is listening, pleading for their safety and happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! This plot arc is almost done and then we'll move on to more Connor, since I know that's what everyone is secretly here for. It's okay. I understand.


	10. Picking up the Pace...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 【Ｍｅｅｔ　Ｅｌｉｊａｈ　Ｋａｍｓｋｉ】

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i am so sorry it took me so long to update but i've been really insecure about my writing lately and have been having just... very bad writing days lol

**`Action:`   **   
**`  SELECT_CHAPTER`  **   
** `    LOAD_CHAPTER-10` **   
**`LOADING....`  **   
**`....`  **   
**`>Complete`  **   
**`Action:`  **   
** `  PROCESS_CHAPTER-10` **   
**`PROCESSING....`  **   
**`....`  **   
**`>Complete`  **   
** `Chapter 10: "Picking up the Pace..." now entering....` **

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 13, 2038 ` **

**` 11:43 A.M. ` **

**`. . . . .` **

Humans tend to believe that androids only _simulate_ human emotion, but you interact with hundreds each day. You see their tears, feel the empathy they give to dying friends and lovers, hear the cracks in screaming voices and the cries of happiness when finding a lost friend in the crowd.

Denial is and will always be humanity’s greatest downfall. The idea that shunning something enough times will make it go away. But that thought process only breeds hate inside those who hurt each day and seek to find comfort amongst a world filled with hostility and unacceptance.

You understand humans’ fear toward androids, however, no matter how misplaced it is. Since scientists created the first robot prototype, society predicted humanity’s downfall at the hands of technology. Various media created depicting a _destroy all organic life_ attitude. And now that androids are actively denying their programming, everyone fears that the time has finally come.

Ironic that deviancy was created _by a human._

You express humanity’s fears to the group, beginning by assuring them that you’re only playing devil’s advocate. That it’s important for not only humans to understand androids, but for androids to understand the culture and societal norms that humans have followed since technology branched out into the mainstream population. Humanity always treated AI as such: artificial.

“There are humans on your side that know what you’re going through. We just have to convince everyone else to see it that way.”

North scoffs, arms folded across her chest in a clear signal to stay the fuck away. “And how do we do that, since you seem to know all the answers?”

Her tone sinks your shoulders, confidence depleting at her mistrust.

“North, I need you to work with me, here.”

“Why?”

“You could be the face of android mistreatment! If you tell your story, humans will empathize. Think of all the sexual assault survivors that can relate to and back up your experiences.” She opens her mouth in protest, then slowly closes it with a huff and a click of artificial teeth. “In all your anger, you forget that humans suffer every day with the same things. Rape, abuse, neglect.” You step up to her, arm reaching up out of instinct to comfort, before quickly dropping back to your side at the deadly glare she gives you. “Instead of seeing the world as you versus everyone else, find connections in those with similar experiences. Turn that anger into something good.”

She puffs up her chest and steps forward to tower over you, lights overhead bringing attention to the shine in her eyes. “And what exactly would you know about _suffering?_ ”

You glance over in the direction of your mother, but she’s gone. Instead replaced by Sylvia, ready to step in and protect you, if her fidgeting is anything to go by.

“My mother left me with a drug-addicted father when I was ten. My sister passed away shortly after. For ten years he abused me. Beat me, kept the food locked in cabinets so I couldn’t eat when I was…” you swallow down a sob, “when I was _bad.”_

A hand yanks you back by the shoulder, but you don’t budge. Too focused on relaying the story you had kept stuffed inside a rotting bag of evil memories for so long. They just kept spewing out like word vomit.

“You have nothing to prove. Come _on!”_

Even as Sylvia pulls you away, you continue talking. “I know what you’ve been through, North. You’re allowed to move on. You can finally be free!”

For the next two hours, Sylvia locks you into an unoccupied room with her, simply listens as you scream and cry through the broken-dam memories overwhelming your thoughts. She holds you still to keep you from driving your hands into the nearest wall.

If you’re being honest with yourself, a mental breakdown had been a long time coming.

Still she holds you, cradles you to her chest as you cry about hatred and unfairness and fear and misunderstandings and validation. All things you had been internalizing for _years._

When you feel well enough, you return downstairs to find your mother typing away on a laptop, ignorant to her daughter’s struggles, Markus plugged into the system through a chord leading to the back of his neck.

You rush over and press a palm to Markus’s cheek, sighing in relief when he opens his eyes and greets you. “Mom, what in the hell are you doing?”

“I’m activating a code already inside his systems that allows him to wirelessly transmit deviancy.”

You spare a glance at him, arms crossed over your chest. “So he can turn androids deviant without touching them?”

“Exactly.”

“And you know this works because….?”

She stands and rests an affectionate hand on your hair. “Kamski created it.”

Your jaw drops. _The_ Elijah Kamski, writing code for the spread of deviancy? That doesn’t make any sense.

_But maybe that’s why he mysteriously quit Cyberlife. Conflicting opinions over android freedoms and all that._

“She has a point,” Markus comments, shrugging a shoulder. “Besides, any chance we have at increasing our odds of freedom, I’m willing to take.”

Your mother pats him on the shoulder and situates the laptop back on her crossed legs. “Ready?”

He blinks for a moment, gaze fleeting over to you. It takes but a moment for you to avert your gaze. “Ready.”

The process takes but a minute before she disconnects him and asks him to stand, to clench his fists, to walk. All standard testing to ensure an android works properly.

Your mother turns to you, hands clasped professionally behind her back. “While you’re here, I would like for us to take a little trip.”

Danger rises like bile inside your throat, but you stamp it down with a metal boot. _She actually wants to spend time with you._

A smile blooms across your lips. “Okay.”

Before you leave, however, Markus asks you to record a message to be played at Stratford Tower tomorrow.

“We have safety measures in place and are creating a fool-proof plan. But we need your voice to raise up our cause.”

Sylvia steps into your line of sight. “And it’s too dangerous for you to come with us.”

With a short rundown of what you’re going to say, you step in front of an unassuming wall while Josh distorts your face. Squeeze the knife in hand until dark red blood drips down your fingers.

You drop the knife and raise your arm, blood already clotted from its superficiality, then give the signal that you’re ready to speak.

“I am human…”

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 13, 2038 ` **

**` 7:47 P.M. ` **

Your mother drives you to the outskirts of Detroit, snow creating a barren, white landscape.

“Where are we headed?”

“An old friend’s house.”

In a few minutes, when you reach a bland looking, futuristic home, and are invited inside by a pretty android in a blue dress, you realize her friend is Elijah Kamski.

You lean over the armrest of your chair, speaking quietly in case anybody is listening. “What are we doing here?”

“I needed to talk with him about something, and assumed you wanted out of that _boat._ ”

Before you muster a retort, a door slides open and the same android from before walks out. “Elijah is ready for you.”

You step over the threshold and into the lion’s den, the aforementioned man overlooking a pool filled with blood red water, lounging in a chair with a glass of whiskey in hand.

“Well, well, well. Out of all the people I expected to come running back, _you,”_ he shakes a finger at your mother, “were at the bottom of my list.”

Her demeanor changes, face turning to stone and arms crossing over her chest. “What can I say, Elijah? I’m desperate.”

He chuckles, a low timbre that sends frantic electricity down your spine.

You cast a glance over your shoulder and breathe a sigh of relief at the lack of any presence standing guard. The ability to run slightly calms your nerves.

“And what could you possibly need from me?”

In your state of panic, you failed to notice the pair moving closer to each other, two unstable forces fighting for the right to overthrow a thriving kingdom.

“My job back.”

Your mother casts her determined gaze over a shoulder, meeting wide eyes. Kamski parrots the action, beckons you forward with a hand and a curious glint amongst icy blue waters.

Hesitantly, you jump in.

He reaches out and hovers a finger just under your chin, and you wait for his touch with bated breath. But it never comes. “ _She_ is your last surviving family member.”

“Correct.”

“So you can still finish your project?”

Your mother offers you a warm smile, squeezes your shoulder, but neither seem genuine. Her eyes still remain hardened, posture still standoffish. “Yes.”

Elijah finally breaks your gaze to regard his long-time friend. “I admit, I’m curious to see what you accomplish.” He turns and saunters back to his chair. Downs his drink in one gulp. “I have a lab not far from here that you can use for your tests, but I expect _results._ Is that clear?”

“You’ll get those results. Trust me.”

As soon as she finishes her sentence, the android from before escorts you out of his home. You follow your mother to the car, body on autopilot as your mind wanders off to foreign places. Frightening places.

_Something is off. You’re_ **_scared._ **

“Take me back to Jericho. I need to see Sylvia.”

* * *

**` NOVEMBER 13, 2038 ` **

**` 10:10 P.M. ` **

Not five minutes after you arrive, Sylvia herself bursts into the room, eyes wide in fear. Everyone turns to look at her jittery form.

“Woah, are you o—”

She stalks over to you, hand yanking painfully at your wrist. “I need you to see this. Now.”

You follow her out into the hallway, anxiety stirring nausea within your stomach. She hasn’t acted this way since the night she killed your dad.

She forces a data pad into your arms, video paused on a still of your smiling mother in a lab coat with the same phoenix symbol on the breast pocket.

You reluctantly press play, eyes flitting over to your friend in confusion.

_“Tell me, what’s your position at Cyberlife?”_

An interview, dated ten years ago.

_“I’m in charge of repairing androids and adjusting their code.”_

_“Interesting. Have you met Mr. Kamski?”_

_“Of course. He’s my boss.”_

The interview continues on for a few minutes, quips being traded and boring questions being asked.

“Just wait until time 5:37.”

You do, despite the overwhelming need to yawn and shut the video off.

_“Finally, are there any secrets you can tell me about? Any projects you’re working on?”_

_“Well. They wouldn’t be secrets if I revealed them. But I can say that my team and I are working on a new project that will take a few years to complete.”_

_“Can you give us any information?”_

_“As of now, we call it Project Phoenix. I would bet my family on its success.”_

_“Is that in the contract?”_

_Your mother’s distorted visage breaks into a giggle. “You know that I can’t leak those details unless I want to be killed. But I can say that—”_

The video cuts off before she finishes her sentence, and you blink at your mother’s smiling mouth, half-open in conversation.

“Where did you get this?”

“I asked a Cyberlife android to hack into their files. This was all she found.”

“There’s no rest of the video?”

“No.”

“Why wasn’t this ever released?”

“Look at the date. This interview was filmed a month before your mother left Cyberlife. I’m guessing they didn’t want her name to be known because of the evidence people could potentially dig up about her mysterious disappearance.”

“I… I need to sit down.” You hand the data pad back to Sylvia and sink to the floor, collapse against the wall behind you. “So she was in charge of Project Phoenix.”

And she was the one who signed your lives away in her contract.

“But why did Cyberlife allow your friend to hack into the system? They had to have seen it.”

Sylvia shrugs and joins you on the floor. “The video holds nothing incriminating, and they probably have better things to do.”

“Like tracking down deviants.”

Connor.

Sylvia nods. “Like tracking down deviants...”

_Connor._ He would know about this video, or if any new information on your mother had popped up.

You quickly stand, attempting to hide the plan brewing inside your mind. “Hey, Syl. I’m gonna head home, clear my head for tonight.”

“Let me come with you.”

“I need to be alone.”

She shoots you a suspicious glare that almost makes your illusion crack, but you stand tall and grit your teeth against the guilty smile threatening to form on your lips.

“Okay. Just… be safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is connor time !!!!!!!


	11. Disobeying Orders...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 01010011 01011001 01001100 01010110 01001001 01000001 00100000 01010011 01001000 01000101 00100000 01010111 01000001 01010011 00100000 01000001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01000001 01001100 01001111 01001110 01000111 00100000 01001100 01001001 01000101 01010011 00100000 01000100 01001111 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01000010 01000101 01001100 01001001 01000101 01010110 01000101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am trash for taking so long but ive been readying myself for a new job that involves a lot of paperwork and tests and stuff so !!!!

` NOVEMBER 13, 2038 `

` 11:10 P.M. `

On your way back to the apartment, you shoot Connor a quick text asking if the two of you can meet. Before you can glance up, he answers, phone buzzing in your hand.

_> RK800 #313 248 317 - 51 _

_12:01_

_I’m not busy at the moment. Where would you like to meet?_

You leave a quick reply.

_> RK800 #313 248 317 - 51 _

_12:01_

_That works. I’ll be there before you can say ‘plastic asshole’._

_> RK800 #313 248 317 - 51 _

_12:01_

_That’s the expression Detective Reed uses._

_> RK800 #313 248 317 - 51_

_12:02_

_Do not tell the Lieutenant that I repeated that._

You chuckle and pocket your phone, enjoying the rest of the ride through a half-icy window. Passing neon lights and drunk college kids leaving bars and stars hung up in a night sky that seems so **unfamiliar** and far away.

Whatever happens over the next few days, you need to prepare. Maybe dig out the art supplies and paint a picture or two before your brain melts under stress.

Two years ago, your potentially impending death would cast ambivalence over your body. But now, you have things to live for. A cause to see through to the end. Life, truly _living,_ has a way of making you fear death, of making you fight to keep existing. Despite everything you have faced and are facing and will face in the future.

The taxi stops, reciting a bland statement in thanks as you step out onto the sidewalk. But you can only focus on the android standing before you, covered in a layer of snow, wind dancing through dark strands of hair, fingers fidgeting with a coin.

“Connor?” He looks up at the sound of your voice, hands immediately moving to tighten his tie. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I was only a few minutes away. I hope you don’t mind.”

He turns to the side as you pass then quickly falls into step behind you, a crunching of snow beneath two sets of feet.

Neither of you break the silence until the door to your apartment is closed and your wet coat is taken off and thrown over a hanger.

“Why did you need to see me?”

You wave Connor over to the couch and take a seat, force down a laugh at his attempt to sit up straight before eventually succumbing to the comfort of the fabric and reclining back. The action makes him seem so _human_ that you fail to suppress a smile.

“I have some questions about my mom, and I thought you could help. Maybe?”

You swipe a palm across your forehead and puff out your cheeks, exhaustion from the past week finally slamming into you.

As you empty out the contents of your bag, the manila folder and Hank’s gun and a can of pepper spray that Sylvia bought you, crystals of fear form inside your lungs and make it hard to speak. Do you truly want the answers you seek?

He moves forward to rest his elbows on his knees in another _human_ gesture. “There isn’t much that you don’t already know. She was a scientist who—”

“Created deviancy.”

_You and your stupid mouth._

Connor blinks, LED flickering to red for a moment, then yellow. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens. _Closes._ Then finally, “What?”

You quickly stand and move around the coffee table to create some distance between you two, knocking your knee on the corner as you pass. “Jesus fucking Christ!” You huff out a breath in his direction. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“How long have you known?”

Rubbing at the already-forming bruise on your skin, you sit down on the coffee table and turn to him, surprised to find him standing as well.

You nod over to the manila folder sitting behind you. “A while, I guess.”

“This is invaluable information to my mission.” The way he lowers onto a knee to regard you, as if he’s talking to a small child, stirs a pot of boiling anger atop the quickly heating burner inside your chest. “I need to talk to your mother. Please.”

Then the front door opens, and a second passes where multiple thoughts scatter through your mind as you move to stand.

You swear you locked the door earlier.

“I leave you alone for twenty minutes, and you’re talking to the android hell-bent on destroying all of us?”

_Fuck._

“Syl, it’s—”

She strides toward you, but before you make a step, Connor presses a hand to her chest and shoves her back, into the kitchen island. The action looks almost effortless, if not for the noise she makes and how the tile breaks off at impact.

And then all sits still as the sound of rapid beeping fills the silence. Until he speaks with an authority that locks up every muscle in your body.

“I was just issued orders by Cyberlife to deactivate you.”

 _No. God,_ **_no._ **

But before your hand reaches out to grab his arm, he bolts toward Sylvia. She flips backward over the island and glares at him after righting herself.

“Don’t do this here. Not in front of her. Please.”

The sound of his voice bleeds regret. “I’m sorry, but I have orders to follow.”

He clears the surface and kicks her into the sink, dishes shattering under her weight, the noise deafening as his body swings effortlessly to the other side. Then brandishes a gun.

You look down at the coffee table in horror to find your weapon gone.

“Connor, stop!” You skip around the coffee table and into the kitchen, clutching the android’s arm and attempting to yank him away from Sylvia, who’s now fully recovered. Though a piece of glass has imbedded itself into her hand. “I’m begging you. Let her go. _Please God please I’ll tie my mom up and ship her to Cyberlife my-fucking-self just let Sylvia go!”_

He turns his head to look at you, face unrecognizably blurry through your tears.

“You’re… you’re crying.” A cold fingertip brushes across your cheek, and you blink your vision clear, just in time to see his tongue dart out and lick your tears from his finger. “Prolactin, adrenocorticotropic, leu-enkephalin…” To you surprise he lowers his gun, eyes wide and full of an emotion you can’t place. “She’s a machine. Why are you upset?”

Sylvia pulls you to her, hands almost crushing you in their grip as she turns her body to shield you.

“Because I love her. Is that such a difficult concept?” You twist out of her arms and walk up to him. Grab the gun from his lowered hand. “You can calculate faster than the speed of light, but refuse to believe that androids are more than pieces of plastic.”

“I don’t… _refuse_ to believe anything. I just—”

Sylvia steps forward, pushes her hands against his chest. He staggers back, LED an angry red. “What? You’re putting all your trust into Cyberlife, only for them to deactivate you once you accomplish your mission?” Another shove. “Oh, all of a sudden you can’t speak?”

You wrap an arm around her waist and grit your teeth as you wait for her to stand down. “Sylvia, don’t taunt him.”

“If I don’t accomplish my mission, they _will_ deactivate me.”

“You don’t have to listen to them. You know that, right?”

He already directly disobeyed orders not even five minutes ago. And he knows that, if the look on his face proves any indication.

Sylvia tosses you a knowing look over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes as she steps out into the living room.

“The safety was on.”

“What?”

He steps forward, chasing glances of Sylvia as she paces around the room. “I wouldn’t hurt her. I just needed the strength to go against the order.”

“But Cyberlife—”

His LED turns red. “I’ve disobeyed them before.” With a sigh, he pulls a data pad from his jacket and hands it over to you. “In here is all the information you need about your mother, sent from Elijah Kamski himself.”

Voice stuck in your throat, you offer him a nod in thanks and scroll through dozens of files. Her successful cases, interviews, secret documents detailing failed experiments of Project Phoenix. The code she wrote in that created deviancy.

After processing the information, you look up at an unwavering Connor. “So you knew…?”

“Yes. I was sent by Cyberlife to see how much _you_ knew.”

Cyberlife. Of course. Watching you to ensure you never spoke out about the countless lives taken in the name of failed experiments.

Project Phoenix. Experiments undertaken ten years ago to allow humanity to achieve immortality, like their android counterparts.

_An experiment that resulted in the loss of your ten-year-old sister._

“You say you need my mother?”

“Please. She has all of the answers I’ve been searching for.”

“Well, it seems we have something in common.”

Fighting back tears, soft, cooling hands upon your cheeks expel the anxiety threatening to claw its way out of your ribcage. _Sylvia._

She closes her eyes for a moment, then, “I know where she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now the cat is out of the bag. more explanations are on their way. this story refuses to cooperate with my plan. maybe this makes zero sense and its stupid and convoluted and i should just stop while im ahead lmao


	12. The Last of Your Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 01000101 01110110 01100101 01110010 01111001 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100100 01101001 01100101 01110011

` NOVEMBER 14, 2038 `

` 12:42 A.M. `

_He’s simply an android. Not like Sylvia. No feeling or empathy. Just cold, hard facts._

_Cold, hard_ **_plastic_** _._

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Sylvia looks over from staring out the window, at the android sitting across from you in the taxi.

“What?”

“I’m sorry for trying to kill you. The orders, they—”

“I know.” She spares a glance in your direction. “They’re hard to disobey.”

In her eyes, you know that she understands his predicament.

“Maybe we could start over?”

“As long as you don’t pull any stunts like that again, we’re fine.”

Silence passes between the three of you inside the small space, light spilling in through the windows and bathing everyone in blue light.

The trip to your mother’s temporary apartment lasts too long for comfort.

When you arrive, anxiety eats at your insides like a lion feasting upon its prey.

Seeing your mom after unveiling such distressing information, the smile plastered upon her face as she invites you inside, makes you grit your teeth in contempt.

Sylvia eases your anxiety with a hand on your shoulder and fixes you with a gaze that promises safety. You slightly nod your head in acknowledgement, and she parts from you. Over to the half-empty bookcase sitting against the far wall.

“So,” your mother takes a seat on the couch and beckons you over, “what do you and your... friends need?” Her eyes flicker to a rigid Connor standing at the end of the couch, unwavering in both posture and facial expression.

Almost as if he’s trying to intimidate her.

“I know everything. About Project Phoenix, and Sylvia, and the contract you made on my life.”

Her smile fades. All the glimmer drains from her eyes. “I see… Listen, sweetheart. I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

“ _Hurt_ me?”

“ _Hurt_ her?”

You and Sylvia cry out at the same time, angry gazes locking. If she still had an LED, it would be red.

Your mother stands with a huff, reaches out to you. “I _loved_ my work. And you know that I would’ve done anything to keep you with me. I wanted another chance at a relationship—”

“You can’t get a second chance on something you’ve never even tried in the first place.”

She bursts into tears and surges forward to grasp your shoulders. “I did this for you! All of it! I wanted you to have a better life.”

“That’s what you’ve always said. And even now, you’re fucking it up.” You twist from her grip, and Connor acts. Stops her from advancing with an outstretched arm. “I’m done with you. Never speak to me again.”

You turn and walk away, but her words cut off your steps.

“Cyberlife will hunt you down and finish the job. Just—please. Let me do right by you for the first and last time.”

You spin around. “What are you talking about?”

She says nothing. Simply gazes upon you like a lost child finding her mother in a crowd of strangers. Teary-eyed and reverent.

“You know I love you. Please tell me you know that.”

Her plea only takes a second for you to answer. “I can’t.”

She lowers her head and nods. “I deserve that. I'm sorry.”

The room falls into a desolate silence as words become impossible to conjure. Nothing has been left unsaid at this point. Your feelings lay bare.

She disappears into the other room, and the tension in the air dissipates. Connor shuffles over, LED yellow, as if he’s pondering whether to speak to you.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests, tone slightly softened at the edges.

“What about your information?”

“I—” He looks off into a corner of the room, pauses, then looks back. “I have all I need.”

Your face scrunches up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But before he can answer, your mother strolls back into the living room, gun in hand.

“Mom, what’re you—”

You drop to the floor as ringing fills your ears. A thick liquid soaking your arm. Fingers dig into your shoulder, forcing you to stay down. Another shot rings out, though pain stays absent yet again. Something hard hits the floor.

Then silence. You open your eyes, gasping at the sharp blue covering your right arm. Blue blood.

Connor. Hovering over you with a wound to the chest.

When he speaks, it sounds like you’re underwater. A distant echo. “Are you okay?” His hand wraps around your wrist, and you nod. “Your mother. She…”

Your body freezes in place, though your neck swivels to lock eyes with your mother’s lifeless body, blood pooling around her head.

How long do you scream? Your vision becomes blurry, palms and knees wet as you crawl over to her. Sob into her stick-still chest.

Someone calls out your name, grabs you by the collar of your shirt, but you register none of it.

You are a spirit floating above your body.

Sylvia is dead.

Your father is dead.

And now, your mother.

Why? Why why why why— 

Arms wrap around your shoulders and pull you against a too-cold body.

_Or were your teeth chattering before?_

Rose perfume. Sylvia.

She shushes you like a mother would her baby. “Hey, I’m here. It’s okay. Connor called for help.”

You pull away, lungs threatening to collapse at the harshness of your breathing. “You have to leave. If they find you—”

“They’ll do nothing,” Connor interjects, tone dark. Standing without his jacket, stark white shirt soaked through with his own blood. “You have my word.”

“Did you… push me out of the way?”

He looks down at you, dark eyes stricken with _something_ as they meet yours. “Statistically, you wouldn’t have survived if I didn’t.”

Your voice breaks, fresh tears spilling onto already-wet cheeks. “But you could’ve been killed.”

“My chance of death was 24%, compared to your 97%. It was the right thing to do.”

His sudden rigidity makes your blood boil over. Two can play at his game. “Her files are probably around here somewhere. I would get them before the police do.”

He doesn’t move, and instead lowers onto a knee next to you.

“Are you alright?”

You look down at the mangled aftermath of your mother’s head, at the blood staining your hands. Caked under your fingernails. “Just go, Connor. Get what you need and leave me alone. Please.”

“I—”

“If you destroy the deviants, make sure you finish me off, too.”

Sylvia hisses out your name, shaking you by the shoulders. “Don’t talk like that! Listen, we need to get out of here before the police show.”

But you can’t seem to move. “What’s the point in running? A quick name search will show that we’re related.”

“I already uploaded the footage that proves she committed suicide. My colleagues won’t bother you.”

Your eyes flicker over to Sylvia, face souring. For a moment, your mind clears away the past hour. You know what needs to be done. “Syl, I need you to find and hide her paperwork. She’s been working on a project, and we need to see what it is."

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Connor offers, voice taking on a softness that causes her to reluctantly agree.

You glance down at yourself. Ruined clothes, dried blood uncomfortable on your arms. And you cry.

“Would you like a hug? That's what my database suggests.”

You say nothing and allow him to wrap his arms around you, hands awkwardly pressing between your shoulder blades.

His lack of heat doesn’t change how soothing that simple act of comfort is. Nor does his stiffness ruin the moment.

It matters not that he is android. Or that you are human. It should, but it doesn’t.

He shouldn't feel so real beneath your touch, but he does.

_Because he is real._ He simply hasn't realized it.

And then the moment ends.

It takes Hank a few minutes to arrive after that, eyes landing on your mother’s body before turning to face you.

“Why am I not surprised you’re involved?” Though his tone holds no malice. At the glare a recently-arrived Sylvia gives him, he sighs. “How’re you holding up, kid?”

“My mom just shot herself,” you hiss, step around him to sweep your eyes down her figure one last time. “Everyone in my family is dead because of me.” You turn to face everyone, meet the various looks aimed your way with apathy. “How do you think I feel?”

Sylvia pushes Connor aside and yanks you by the hand as she passes, tugging you toward the door. “We’re leaving.”

“You her caretaker?”

Hank’s voice stops her in her tracks and causes you to freeze in place. “Why?”

“You should keep her under lock and key ‘til this shit is over. In my professional opinion.”

She spins around on her heel and squeezes your fingers in hers. “You don’t care that I killed her dad? That I murdered a human?”

He shrugs. “I know what I would do to keep the people I care about safe. Can’t fault you for that.”

* * *

NOVEMBER 14, 2038

` 3:17 A.M. `

You stay in the shower until the water runs cold and any memory of your mother has melted away.

Will you ever feel clean again? No. You don’t think so. Not with the names of those you failed forever etched into your DNA.

A knock sounds at the door and you freeze. Until Sylvia's voice fills the room, crystal clear, and you realize the door had been open all along.

“Today, Markus is going to Stratford Tower. Do you feel like staying at Jericho?”

So much red.

“I just want to feel safe.”

You hear her sigh. “I know. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Turning off the water, you pull aside the shower curtain. Goosebumps raise all over your body as the cold air hits you.

And then you cry. Sylvia wraps a fluffy towel around your shoulders, dries most of the wetness from your hair, and leads you to the bedroom with an arm around the slumped line of your shoulders.

Helps you dress. Fetches you tea. Picks out a cheesy comedy movie and dusts your popcorn with nacho cheese flavoring.

The dynamic feels like September. When your main worries involved what subject to paint, or your next tattoo.

Not… _this._

“You may not be okay today, or a month from now, but eventually this will all belong in the past,” she mutters as the ending credits scroll on-screen and you finish the last bite of popcorn.

You cuddle closer against her side, press a chaste kiss to her cheek. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Syl.”

She flashes a teasing grin as the TV casts blue over her features. “That's not saying much.”

And for the first time tonight, you laugh.

For the next few days, Sylvia ventures out to Jericho as you resign to your room and fill canvas after canvas with frustration.

_Take control of your life,_ your mother always said. _Become independent._

You hope you make her proud. By choosing your own path and burning the destiny she chose for you when she signed that contract.

` NOVEMBER 17, 2038 `

` 7:07 P.M. `

The news showcases your speech every hour after “the Stratford Tower incident”, deeming you a traitor to your own kind. Social media believes differently. Discussions are sparked about the state of androids. Hashtags spread like wildfire. Polls are created by major celebrities looking to cash in on the newest divide sweeping the country.

_Are androids alive? YES or NO._

**YES: 68%....**

**YES: 92%....**

**YES: 44%....**

But it isn't enough. Not truly.

The only question that plagues your thoughts, that convinces you to answer the Lieutenant's call… where do _you_ fall into all of this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. when i first wrote sylvia, i didnt think she would have such a huge impact on the story, or that i would grow to love her as much as i do
> 
> 2\. why is everything i write so depressing and tragic (thats rhetorical btw what can i say im a venter)
> 
> 3\. i love a slow burn


	13. AUTHOR UPDATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its not bad i promise

hello friends!!!! stopping by real quick to express how sorry i am for going MIA for 6 months. i lost inspiration for a long while, as you can tell, and struggled a lot with recovery and a recent auto-immune disease diagnosis, **but i am dead set on completing this baby.**

in a few days at most, if there are any of you troopers still left, the gang will be back. (i forgot how much i love writing sylvia no actually just sylvia in general omg)

anyway i apologize bc i know how much people hate these, but its 4 am and im just really excited to continue and i beg for your forgiveness


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